The Spanish Lady
by Eclectic Butterfly
Summary: A Spanish Lady in France. There can only be adventure, and some interesting problems for the musketeers. Chapter 8 now up! (Originally posted in the Alexandre Dumas section, but is more movie based than book. So, crossover it is then!)
1. Summer, 1625 Part 1

**_A/N: First, I'd like to thank the very talented LadyWallace for being such a helpful beta for this story. Acting on her advice, I have split this into two parts, the second of which will be posted in a few days. Second, there is some dialogue in Spanish. I relied on an online translator for this, so if you can actually understand Spanish and it's horribly wrong: I am very, very sorry. Still, after each Spanish line, I've tried to put what was being talked about, so I hope no one gets lost._**

**_Enjoy!_**

**_A/N (2014): I have made minor adjustments to correct the Spanish dialogue. Arithanas was kind enough to offer suggestions and I thank her very much for her help. Due to what I've learned from her, I've made minor adjustments to names and such, so those of you who have perused my tale before may notice these._**

* * *

><p><em><em>Summer, 1625<em>_

"So, M. Treville didn't say why we've been summoned?" Porthos asked, as he and his friends walked into the throne room. He grinned at a couple of ladies in waiting that they went past.

"No, he didn't," Athos answered, shortly. "His note just said it was urgent."

Only a few months had passed since their triumph over the Duke of Buckingham. D'Artagnan had been admitted into one of the junior guards on a two year probation. For Athos, Pothos, and Aramis, though, there had been no change in fortune, and no reinstatement back into the Musketeer ranks.

Now, the three had been summoned to the palace.

"His Majesty, King Louis, and Her Majesty, Queen Anne!"

The three men knelt as the king and queen entered the room. "Ah, good, you're here," Louis said on seeing them. "Stand up. I have a special assignment for you three."

Getting to their feet, the three men exchanged quick looks. "A special mission, Your Majesty?" Athos said carefully. "Forgive me, but shouldn't you be entrusting this mission to one of your musketeers?"

"But you are my musketeers! The best of my musketeers!" Louis said in astonishment. He paused and started to frown. "Oh, good lord! Did I not give orders for you to return to your ranks? I distinctly remember giving that order. Who did I tell to take care of it?"

"I believe you instructed the cardinal to handle the matter, Your Majesty," Queen Anne volunteered calmly.

Louis glanced at her and nodded. "Yes, of course," he exclaimed. "Well, no matter. I will remind him of this. Once you three have returned, everything will be taken care of."

"Where does Your Majesty wish us to go?" Aramis asked.

"It is the express wish of your queen, actually," Louis said, holding out his hand to his queen.

Stepping forward, the queen graced the trio with a serene smile. "A ship from Spain, the __Santa Anna__, will be arriving in Calais within four days," she informed them. "You will meet the Marquesa de Molin aboard that ship and escort her party here to Paris."

"Four days?" Porthos repeated skeptically. "That's not much time, your Majesty."

For a moment, the queen looked perturbed. "Unfortunately, the letter containing this information was delayed," she answered, her tone slightly aggrieved. She smiled at the trio again a moment later. "However, I have every confidence you will reach Calais in time."

Athos bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he said. "We will do our best."

Queen Anne nodded. "I know you will," she responded. "I would not trust my friend in anyone else's hands."

"Well, off you go then," Louis said cheerfully. "I've instructed Richelieu to have a bag a gold ready for each of you, to cover your expenses for the journey."

He turned away with Anne on his arm. The trio bowed and took their leave. One of the Cardinal's men handed them each a small purse as they went out. "I begin to think we will never find a great cause," Aramis lamented.

"This is something to do," Athos responded.

Porthos tossed his purse, testing the weight. "And, when we are back in Paris, we will be back in the Musketeer Corps," he said jovially. "I think that is something to drink to."

"No time," Athos answered seriously. "Not only must we get to Calais in four days in this heat, we will have to make the necessary arrangements to get the marquesa and her party back to Paris. That will take time. Time we don't have. We need to leave immediately."

Porthos sighed, but nodded. "The cardinal must be furious," Aramis commented. "He's never liked dealing with Spaniards."

"That's none of our concern. Let's just worry about completing our mission."

* * *

><p>Amidst insults and threats, Planchet worked quickly to get his three masters packed for their journey. D'Artagnan sat on the table, munching on an apple as he watched the activity in the small rooms. "I wish I was going with you," the boy said.<p>

"You'll get your own chance for adventure, boy," Aramis told him.

"After all, someone needs to stay behind and keep Planchet in line," Porthos said, glaring at the lackey.

In trying to move faster, Planchet tripped over his own feet and crashed into Athos. "Pardon me, sir!" Planchet said, trying to get himself upright. "Sorry, sir!"

"Planchet, will you get out so we can get something done?" Athos snapped. "Go make sure the horses are saddled."

Swiftly, Planchet vanished out the door. "You have to leave right away?" D'Artagnan asked.

"We're not as constrained for time as we were the last time we left Paris, but yes we do have to leave immediately," Athos answered, packing his things into his saddlebags. "There will be things to arrange in Calais. We should be back in little over a week."

D'Artagnan nodded. "Do you know who you're bringing to Paris?"

Porthos poured a goblet of wine. "The Marquesa of Molin," he answered. "Aramis, remind me of how she falls in the nobility ranks."

"She is under only the queen, a princess, and a duchess," Aramis answered. He reached over and snatched the goblet from Porthos' hand. "She's above everyone else."

"This is going to be a fun trip," Porthos remarked with a grin.

Athos hoisted the bags over his shoulder. "If you're done gossiping, we need to leave," he said.

Groaning, Porthos got to his feet. "We'll see you when we return, D'Artagnan," he said, lifting his saddlebags from the floor. He pointed one warning finger at the boy. "Don't drink all the wine. Or, if you do, make sure you replace it before we get back."

"Got it," D'Artagnan said with a grin.

The big man gave him a final glare before clapping the boy on the shoulder and walking out. "Try not to get into too many duels while we away," Aramis advised.

"Listen to M. Treville," Athos instructed as D'Artagnan nodded. "And for god's sake, stay away from the cardinal's guards. The last thing we need is to come back to Paris to find you dead or dying from a fight."

"You three fuss as bad as my own mother," D'Artagnan complained, good naturedly. He jumped up from the table and followed them outside. "Get out of here so I can have some fun."

"Look after Planchet," Porthos ordered, mounting.

The lackey joined D'Artagnan at the doorway as the trio rode off. "I'm going to miss them," Planchet said morosely.

"Yeah, me too," the young boy answered. He shrugged and turned to go inside. "But they'll be back soon."

* * *

><p>Due to the summer heat, the three men kept to a slower pace on the way to Calais, to be easier on their horses. They arrived in the city three days after leaving Paris. They found a small inn near the docks to stay in. While Porthos chose to become acquainted with the tavern in the inn, Aramis checked at the docks to make sure they'd beaten the ship and Athos went to make the travel arrangements.<p>

The following day, there was no sign of the ship. The trio took turns staying on the dock, but the Spanish ship didn't arrive. However, when Athos returned to the docks early in the morning, the __Santa Anna__, was bobbing in the water.

"Arrived around midnight," an old sailor said when questioned. "The foreigners went that way." He pointed down the docks to the very inn Athos and his friends had been staying at. "Here comes one of them now."

A tall man was walking towards them. **_**"Señores, buenos días," **_**he greeted. He stopped in front of the sailor. "I believe these trunks were to be delivered to that inn today."

"The day's not over yet," the sailor answered, leaning back.

Athos almost smirked at the annoyed look on the Spaniard's face. "Are you part of the Marquesa de Molin's group bound for Paris?" he asked, interrupting the conversation.

"Not anymore," the young man answered, looking very relieved. "The vizconde has tried to convince me to stay with them until Paris, but this is as far as the Marquesa requested me to come. This is as far as I go. I return to Madrid with the __Santa Anna__."

The sailor grinned. "Got a pretty señorita waiting for you, eh?" he asked, nodding wisely.

"The prettiest," the young man said enthusiastically. He made a half, formal bow. "I will inform the vizconde of the trunks. **_**Buenos Días, señores.**_**"

"I'll walk back with you," Athos said.

"Are you the escort for the Marquesa?" the young Spaniard asked as they walked towards the inn. When Athos nodded, the man shook his head. "**_**Señor**_**, I pity you. Señorita Marquez is…" The man hesitated, glancing around. "I hope you are prepared for quarreling. **_**Buenos días, señor."**_**

The sailor laughed as the young man walked off. "The pretty girl with the sharp tongue," he said. "The young foreigner is right, Monsieur. You are to be pitied."

Frowning, Athos went into the tavern and confronted the innkeeper about it. "I'm surprised they didn't wake you, __Monsieur__," the small man said, glancing up at the ceiling. "They arrived in the middle of the night, demanding the best rooms."

"Which rooms?" Athos asked, thinking only for a moment of the amount he and his friends had drunk the evening before.

The innkeeper named three room numbers. As Athos turned to go up the stairs, a man in elaborate, Spanish dress, stepped into the hallway. He cast a condescending look around. "**_**Señor**_**, I require breakfast," he ordered, in heavily accented French. "Immediately."

"Right away, Monsieur Marquez," the innkeeper said, moving hastily to show the man a table.

"**_**Señor **_**Marquez!" the Spaniard corrected imperiously. "I am not some Frenchman to be called this monsieur!"

"You are with the Marquesa de Molin's group?" Athos asked.

The Spanish noble looked Athos up and down, and raised an eyebrow. "I am," he said. "I am the **_**Vizconde **_**Marquez. And you are?"

"King Louis sent me to escort you to Paris," Athos answered, as his companions came down the staircase. "I am-."

"Your name is unimportant to me," Marquez interrupted. "All I need to know is whether you will keep my daughter safe."

Athos' jaw tightened, but he nodded. "My companions and I have everything arranged so that we may begin the journey to Paris this morning," he informed the man. "King Louis and Queen Anne are anxious to see the marquesa."

Marquez laughed. "You cannot be serious!" he said. "On no account are we leaving today. Not only is the marquesa still unwell from the sea journey, but my daughter, Senorita Marquez requires rest as well! We will leave tomorrow and not a moment sooner."

Athos frowned but nodded. "Very well, **_**señor**_**," he said. "If you insist."

Nodding once, Marquez turned his back on them and went to a table. He sat, looking displeased with the arrangements. The three friends took seats on the opposite side of the room. "So much for getting back to Paris within the week," Aramis said.

"So who's the pompous windbag?" Porthos asked. "The Marqués de Molin?"

"No. The Vizconde Marquez," Athos answered. "He made no mention of any Marqués de Molin."

"Well, that is very good news," Porthos remarked. "Do you happen to have the good marquesa's room number?"

Aramis shook his head as the innkeeper's wife came to take their order. "Porthos, you would do well to stick with your procurator's wife," he said. "A foreign noble will only bring you trouble."

The big man shrugged. "I suppose she's old and ugly," he decided. "So, how shall we spend today? The same way we spent yesterday?"

* * *

><p>Sitting in the tavern, Porthos was finishing the last of his brandy when he spotted a young woman entering. Dressed in a simple blue dress that emphasized her tan skin, she cast a glance around and then headed for the innkeeper. Her long black hair was in a single braid that hung down her back.<p>

"Is that the marquesa's maid?" Aramis asked, noticing the woman as well.

The innkeeper nodded once and gestured to the right, obviously giving her directions. Pressing a coin into the man's hand, the Spanish woman turned and saw that the trio was watching her. She smiled, pulled the hood of her tan cloak up over her head, and hurried out.

"If I had to guess, I would say that was the Marquesa de Molin," Athos remarked. Aramis and Porthos looked at him questioningly. "She has none of the recognizable traits of a maid, and every manner of nobility."

His companions exchanged looks and stood up. "Well, since we are the escort for the lady, we should do our job," Aramis said. "Are you coming with us, Athos?"

Athos just shrugged. Without waiting, Aramis and Porthos hurried out of the tavern. Porthos searched the now crowded street. "I don't see her," he said. "Which way do you think she would have gone?"

"She was asking how to get to the closest livery stable and was going down to the docks after that," Athos said, coming out behind them. "The innkeeper pointed her in this direction."

He led the way into the crowd. "You have to wonder what would cause a lady to venture off alone in a strange city," Aramis remarked after a few moments. "No ordinary woman would do this."

"Perhaps an 'ordinary woman' doesn't do things for the adventure, or have a hatred of being confined in one place," an accented voice said from their right. The young woman smiled as all three spun to face her. "Then again, I have never been described as ordinary. You three are following me."

"You are the Marquesa de Molin," Athos said.

She nodded once, raising one brow. "I am Doña María Esperanza Fernandez de la Vega, Marquesa de Molin," she informed them. Her tone was matter of fact, without any trace of pride or bragging. She was just shorter than Aramis. "And you are?"

"I am Aramis; this is Athos and Porthos," Aramis introduced. "King Louis and Queen Anne sent us to escort you to Paris."

**_**"Ah, ya veo," **_**the woman exclaimed, clasping her hands together. **_**"Los tres mosqueteros. **_**The three musketeers. I have heard of you. Queen Anne has written me about what you have done for her. I am honored to have such brave soldiers as my escort."

"Señor Marquez said you were resting today," Porthos told her. "Is there something you need?"

"No, not at all," she responded swiftly. "I am not in the habit of lying around all day, and wanted to walk some. Good day, **_**señores.**_**" Turning, she started walking down the street. After only a few steps, she looked over her shoulder at the trio who followed her. "Do you intend to follow me every step I take?" she asked, sounding both amused and perturbed.

"It is a strange city, señora, you may get lost," Aramis said.

"It is our mission to get you to Paris safely," Athos added. "It would not look well on our record if something were to happen to you the very day you arrived."

The marquesa shrugged. "If you insist." She made her way down the street weaving between people. Every few steps, she paused to admire some item displayed on a seller's cart. It was while she was fingering a soft shawl that a voice rang out.

**_**"¡María Esperanza Fernández de la Vega! ¿Qué crees que estás haciendo? ¡Te he estado buscando por todas partes!"**_**

Sighing, señora de la Vega hung her head. "Not even an hour," she said. She glanced at her escorts. "Do you by any chance understand Spanish, **_**señores?"**_**

"Enough to know that someone is demanding an explanation from you," Aramis responded.

The woman considered and nodded. "Close enough," she said as an older Spanish woman pushed between Athos and Aramis to reach her. "This is my ever watchful duenna, Carmen**_**. Carmen, se trata de Athos, Porthos y Aramis; Nuestra escolta a París."**_**

The duenna glanced at the men and glared at them with all the suspicion of a mother. The trio bowed slightly towards her. "Excuse me, **_**señores**_**," the marquesa said as Carmen pulled on her arm. "I fear I must return now. I look forward to our journey. Tomorrow at dawn, then?"

"If that is-," Athos started to respond, but the marquesa was already letting herself be pulled down the street.

"This mission just got doubly interesting," Porthos decided.

"Yes," Athos agreed, watching the marquesa vanish into the crowd with her duenna. "A noble woman does not sneak away from her companions without reason."

Porthos shrugged. "That's not the reason I had. And you can't be thinking she's a spy," he objected. "She's no Milady."

Athos shot him a dark look and walked away. "Well done, Porthos," Aramis said, shaking his head.

* * *

><p>There was no appearance of anyone else from the marquesa's group. By the time evening fell, Athos had returned to the tavern. As an apology, Porthos handed him a bottle of wine and ordered him to open it. A church bell was ringing midnight when Aramis rose from the tavern table. "We should get our rest," he said. "We have a long journey ahead of us."<p>

"Do you smell something?" Porthos asked abruptly, frowning.

"You mean something besides the smell of fish and unwashed clothes?" Aramis responded, raising one eyebrow.

Porthos scowled. "I smell something burning."

Before Aramis could offer a comment, Athos frowned. "I smell smoke," he said, glancing towards the door leading to the inn kitchen.

A shrill scream sounded over the tavern noise. **_**"¡Fuego!**_****_**¡Que alguien la ayude! ¡Fuego!"**_**

"Fuego?" Athos repeated, getting to his feet. "Doesn't that mean-?"

"Fire!"A half dressed man came stumbling into view. He pointed at the stairs. "Fire!"

Even the drunks were on their feet and rushing for the door. In the hallway, Athos spotted Marquez with a young Spanish woman and Carmen. "Get out!" Athos shouted, pushing the trio towards the door.

**_**"Perita! ¿Dónde está Doña Maria?" **_**Carmen exclaimed, trying to fight her way back in.**_**"¡Voy a por ella!"**_**

**_**"Carmen, María puede cuidar de sí misma!" **_**the young woman urged, pulling on the other woman's arm. "**_**¡Vamos!"**_**

Carmen caught the arm of the man closest to her: Porthos. **_**"Por favor! Doña María todavía está ahí! Por favor, ¡ayúdela!" **_**she begged, her tone pleading. **_**"Por favor!"**_**

Porthos looked over at Aramis. "She says someone is still inside," Aramis translated, frowning in concentration. "A lady named Maria. She must mean the marquesa!"

"I'll go see," Porthos said, turning around.

Smoke had filled the inn already. Taking the steps three at a time, Porthos reached the second floor. The smoke was worse up there. Holding his sleeve to his arm, Porthos pushed open each door as he hurried down the hallway. The last door wouldn't budge. Putting his shoulder to it, he rammed his full weight against the wood.

The lock snapped and the door opened. The fire was raging in the room. On the bed, señora de la Vega lay unconscious to the flames surrounding her. Porthos ran forward, scooped her up, and retreated to the hallway. He kept his head down as he moved.

Following the shouts, Porthos found his way outside. He went past Aramis, who'd joined the bucket line that had formed. Athos was snapping orders to the men who kept coming to see what was happening. Porthos spotted Marquez and headed for the Spaniards.

**_**"Perita, por favor, despierta," **_**the old woman pleaded, reaching for her mistress.

Even as he moved, a bucket of water came down on him from behind. Porthos spun around as Aramis lowered the bucket. "You were on fire," the former priest-to-be stated, looking more than a little amused at having to perform such a service for his friend.

There was a gasp from the woman Porthos still held as water dripped onto her face. She opened her eyes and started coughing. "Is she all right? " Aramis asked. "Should we send for a physician?"

Carefully, Porthos knelt and laid the young woman on the ground. The old woman hovered, patting the woman's cheeks. "Send for a physician," Porthos said, looking at Aramis.

**_**"Carmen? ¿Qué ha pasado?" **_****the marquesa** said hoarsely. "What's happened?"

**_**"Pera, ha habido un incendio. ¿Me entiendes?" **_**the old woman said swiftly, her tone soothing. **_**"Este hombre te ha salvado."**_**

**"**Carmen!You are always worrying over Maria, when you are to look after us both!**_**" **_**señorita Marquez demanded, storming forward. She scowled at the other women.

Carmen straightened and glared at señorita Marquez."Aramis! Porthos! There is still a fire!" Athos shouted, getting his friends' attention.

"Señora, are you all right?" Porthos asked.

Dark brown eyes turned to him. **_**"Sí, señor," **_**señora de la Vega said, nodding her head once. She coughed and sat up. "Go."

Shrugging, Porthos stood and grabbed the bucket Aramis held out to him.

* * *

><p>The dryness of summer had exasperated the situation, allowing the flames to spread to the nearby building. It took over an hour for the fire to be quenched. Finally, dripping water, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis walked towards the group of Spaniards.<p>

"Well, now what are we to do?" Marquez immediately demanded before the conversation could go any further. He gestured at the charred inn. "Everything we brought was there!"

"I'm sure everything can be arranged," Athos told him sharply He glanced over the small group. "Is everyone all right?"

With Carmen's help, señora de la Vega stood up. **_**"Gracias, señor**_**, we are well," she said. Her hand went to her black hair. "The vizconde is incorrect about one thing. Not all of our trunks were brought to the inn."

A nearby man whistled. It was only then that the woman seemed to realize she was dressed in only a white, now damp, shift, her feet bare on the cobblestones. She wrapped her arms around her as her appearance caused more catcalls to sound.

"Here," Aramis said, taking off his wet jacket. He held it out to the woman.

**_**"Gracias, señor," **_**she said gratefully. She draped it over her shoulders, pulling it closed over her chest.

"We will check your rooms for anything that may have survived the flames," Athos told her. "Now, if you'll follow me, I'll find you another inn to stay at."

Marquez scowled. "**_**Señores**_**, perhaps you don't realize it, but we are nobility," he said, putting his arm around his daughter protectively. Athos focused on him with narrowed eyes. "We will not be treated in this manner."

"Then, go back to Spain," the marquesa said sharply. She smiled at the musketeers. "Wherever you find a place, I will be satisfied, **_**señores**_**."

Athos turned to his companions. "Aramis, you and Porthos check to see if their belongings survived," he ordered. "I will escort them to another inn for the rest of the night."

As Athos led the Spaniards away, Aramis located a small lantern and led the way into the blackened inn. Other looters were already combing the remains. Carefully, he and Porthos made their way up to the second floor. "It's definitely worse up here," Aramis remarked.

"This was the marquesa's room," Porthos told him, gesturing to the last room.

The room was destroyed, as were several other rooms on that side of the inn. Giving up, Aramis and Porthos went to find Athos.

* * *

><p>At the inn, everyone who had been displaced from the burned out inn was crowded together. Fighting through the crowd, Aramis and Porthos found Athos sitting in a corner. "And where's the marquesa and her companions?" Porthos asked.<p>

"The marquesa went off with one of the maids," Athos answered with a shrug. "Señor Marquez has gone to find someone who will listen to his complaints."

Porthos reached for the bottle with a groan. "Late night," he commented.

**_**"Perdón, señores," **_****Do**ña Maria called out, weaving her way through the tables. She was now dressed in what looked to have been the best dress of a maid. "Would it be possible to leave for Paris now?"

All three men stared at her incredulously. "Now?" Athos repeated. "Señora, it's the middle of the night!"

"There is a full moon," the marquesa answered. "I am anxious to get to Paris. If it is not possible, you only have to say so."

"If you want to leave Calais now, we'll leave now," Athos said, getting to his feet. "But shouldn't you wait to…" he waved his hand to indicate her appearance. "Clothes?"

The woman smiled, clearly relieved. **_**"Gracias, señor," **_**she said. "These clothes will suffice until Paris. I will inform the vizconde and Margarita that we will be departing."

She turned and hurried out of the tavern. "For a woman who nearly lost her life, she's being extremely calm about it," Aramis commented in admiration.

"Porthos, track down our driver and make sure he isn't too drunk," Athos ordered.

* * *

><p>"I thought everything burned in the inn!" Porthos complained, helping hoist the last of the two trunks onto the carriage.<p>

"These apparently had been left on the docks by mistake," Athos answered, climbing up to strap the luggage down. When he jumped to the cobblestones, he spotted the Spanish party coming towards them from the inn. "Señora, your carriage is ready."

Nodding, señora de la Vega smiled and climbed in. Señorita Marquez was scowling when she climbed into the carriage. The duenna, Carmen, was scolding the youngest woman steadily. Marquez also looked displeased.

Aramis closed the carriage door and walked to his horse. Athos signaled the driver. The man cracked his whip and the horses lunged forward. Athos, Porthos and Aramis rode behind the carriage through the streets.

Soon after sunrise, señor Marquez demanded they stop for a meal. Since they were stopping to change horses anyway, Athos consented to allowing time for a meal. Señorita Marquez, however, chose to remain in the carriage, her arms crossed and her nose in the air.

"What brings you to Paris, señora?" Porthos asked over the simple meal of bread and cheese.

"The queen," the young woman responded simply, smiling with fondness. "I was one of her lady in waiting when she was **_**Infanta**_****_**Ana. **_**She has summoned me to Paris to retake my position."

"The marquesa was a great favorite of the queen, when they were together in Madrid," Marquez added, his tone somewhat mocking. The marquesa shot him an annoyed look, but didn't deny it.

"Any particular reason why you didn't come to Paris with the queen when she married Louis?" Aramis asked. "I assume, if you were a favorite, she would have wanted you to come."

The marquesa looked down at the table. "She did, and it was my wish as well," she said, very quietly, "but my father had made other arrangements. I was married to the Marqués de Molin when she married King Louis."

"Where is the marqués now?" Porthos asked. "Its not often a husband will allow his pretty wife to travel without him."

Señora de la Vega smiled and looked up. Before she could answer, though, there was a scream from the courtyard. "Margarita**_**," **_**the marquesa sighed as the men jumped up from the table. She followed them out to the courtyard.

A scruffy man was half in the carriage. Striding forward, Athos and Porthos grabbed the man and hauled him out. They tossed him to the ground. Porthos stepped on the man's wrist, forcing him to let go of the small dagger that was in his hand. Marquez drew his blade.

"Let me kill the dog!" he growled, starting forward.

**_**"¡Papá!**_****_**¡Él trató de matarme!" s**_**eñorita Marquez wailed, scrambling out of the carriage. She ran to her father and threw her arms around him. "He called me Do**ña Maria**! He thought I was her! How could he accuse me of such a thing? I do not look like Maria, do I?"

Crouching down, Athos stared at the man. "Were you sent to harm the Marquesa de Molin?" he demanded.

"I don't know anything about a marquesa!" the man answered, his tone whimpering. "I was just searching for any loose change. I wouldn't have hurt her."

"Monsieurs, I believe this man has been robbing many travelers that stop here," the innkeeper said, looking at the man coldly. "He has caused my business to suffer. Allow me to deal with him."

Considering the offer for a moment, Athos nodded and stood up. "If you are ready, we will continue," he said to the marquesa.

Silently, señora de la Vega nodded once and moved to the carriage. "You expect me to travel after this shock?" Señorita Marquez demanded, her eyes wide. She clung to her father much tighter. **_**"Eso es cruel, Do**_****_**ña**_****_** María! ¿Cómo esperas eso de mí? Papa, ¡no lo permitas!"**_**

"Oh, be quiet, Margarita! It is not cruel," señor Marquez said impatiently. She watched as Carmen pulled the young woman off Marquez. "Get in the carriage."

"Paris is not going to come quickly enough," Athos muttered as Señorita Marquez began to rage at the duenna, her father, and the marquesa. "Señorita, perhaps next time you will stay with the group and this won't happen again."

"How dare you?" señorita Marquez demanded, whirling on him. "My life was threatened, and you dare blame it on me?"

Her glare faltered as Athos stared at her. "Señorita, you will get in the carriage now, or you will walk to Paris," he said evenly. Taking a step back, the young woman closed her mouth and got in the carriage very, very quickly. "Thank you, señorita."

Porthos held out his hand to señora de la Vega. "Señora, may we continue?"

"We may," the woman answered, unable to hide the amused smirk. She accepted his help into the carriage.

Catching Aramis' eye, Porthos shrugged at the former priest's amused expression. "What?" he asked. Shaking his head in response, Aramis walked away.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day passed without incident. When the sun began to set, the carriage stopped at another small inn. Carmen herded her two charges to their rooms without delay, and the two young ladies had their evening meal sent up to them.<p>

Marquez retired to his room soon after eating his own meal, declining to have a drink with the three other men. Thankfully, no fire or other emergency interrupted that night. The travelers were back on the road a little after dawn.

Mid-morning, Athos dropped back a ways, to get away from the never ending complaints of señorita Marquez. Even if she was speaking Spanish, the man found the whining in her tone annoying. Aramis and Porthos also slowed their horses to keep pace beside him.

"Now I understand why the Spaniard I spoke to on the docks in Calais offered me his condolences," Athos remarked.

"Señorita Marquez is an unlikely companion to the marquesa," Aramis said. "I wonder why the marquesa brought her along."

Athos looked over, his expression wry. "Perhaps you could ask her when we stop next."

The sharp crack of a gunshot rang out. Before the three men could react, the carriage lurched forward violently as the horses bolted. "Porthos, stop the carriage!" Athos ordered, spurring his horse forward. "Aramis, with me!"

Kicking his horse's sides, Porthos raced after the out of control carriage. Slowly, he gained on it, moving past the main body of the carriage. The driver was slumped over, the reins dangling down. As Porthos moved to jump over, the horses swerved sharply and the carriage went onto two wheels. It teetered precariously for half a second and then crashed onto its side.

Caught in the harness, the carriage horses were fighting to get free. Señorita Marquez shrill screams let Porthos know she, at least, was still living. "Are you all right?" he shouted, pulling his horse up sharply. He jumped to the ground and hurried for the door of the carriage. "Señora?"

As he reached, the door was shoved up and over. "We are all right," señora de la Vega called out, her voice unsteady. Her head came into view. "Was that a gunshot? Is the driver all right?"

There was another gunshot, and the bullet ricocheted, sending bits of wood flying. Porthos ducked instinctively. "Stay down, señora!" he called out, searching the side of the road. He saw a flash of silver from beside a tree, and drew his sword.

Throwing down a musket, a man in dirty, scruffy clothing came charging forward. Steel clashed against steel. Though Porthos initially thought the man was a common highway robber, he quickly revised his opinion as his opponent came at him with speed and skill.

It was only when the man looked over at the carriage, that Porthos was able to make a fatal hit. The man fell to the ground.

Se**ñ**orita Marquez could still be heard crying hysterically from inside the carriage. The marquesa__, __however, seemed to have decided to take matters into her own hands. Her elbows on either side of the open door, the young woman was pulling herself out of the overturned carriage.

Quickly, Porthos strode over and climbed up onto the side of the carriage. "Señora, if I may," he said, reaching down. He grasped the woman under the arms and pulled her up. He set her on the side of the carriage. "We'll have you on solid ground momentarily."

****"******_**Gracias, señor **_**Porthos**,******"****the marquesa said. She looked down into the carriage through the open door. She shook her head. "Where is señor Aramis and señor Athos?"

Porthos gestured down the road. His two friends were finishing off two men. "Ah, I see," señora de la Vega said, sounding unsettled. Kneeling down, she swung her feet over the side of the carriage and pushed off. She looked at the dead man in the road and closed her eyes.

**_**"Maria, ¡No me dejes aquí!" **_**señorita Marquez screeched as Porthos helped Marquez out. "Don't you leave me here alone!"

Shaking her head, señora de la Vega ignored the demand and hurried over to grab hold of the lead horse. She spoke softly to it, trying to calm the animal before it harmed itself.

"Look, señorita, you have to get out so we can figure out how to get this thing back the way it's supposed to be," Porthos said, crouching at the doorway of the carriage. He shook his head. "Señor Marquez, will you talk to the girl? She's your daughter."

"Margarita, the sooner you calm down and accept the man's help, the sooner you will get out," Vizconde Marquez said wearily. He jumped to the ground and went to help calm the horses.

Looking around warily, Athos and Aramis hurried up. "Aramis, use your silver tongue and convince this…girl that we can't get this carriage upright until she's out of it?" Porthos requested, his patience running thin. "I can't seem to get through to her."

Grabbing hold of the side of the carriage, Aramis pulled himself up. "Señorita, please," he said, looking down into the carriage. "We really have no time for this."

Athos took over for th marquesa at the horses' heads and she walked to the side of the carriage. "Margarita, please will you be sensible for once?**_**" **_**she called out. "**_**Por favor?"**_**

**_**"Sé sensata tú si quieres, María, pero yo no estoy acostumbrada a tales indignidades,"**_**came the angry, tearful response. "**_**¿Qué crees que estás haciendo?**_**...do not touch me! I am of noble blood, and a...a peasant like you cannot-Let me go!"

This last, in perfect though accented French, came in response to Porthos, who'd lost all patience, reaching down and grabbing the young woman's wrist. "Margarita, please, be quiet," Marquez said, tiredly as Athos freed the horses, and tied them to a fence post.

The marquesa smiled and turned her back on the carriage. Her breath caught as she saw the barrel of a musket pointing out from beside a tree. **_**"Señores!" **_**she exclaimed, jerking back as a fourth man stepped into view.

Spinning around, Aramis jumped to the ground, landing in front of the lady. He was already drawing a dagger from beneath his jacket. He flung it in the same moment that the gun fired. The highway man fell to the ground and Aramis reeled back a step.

"**_**Señor**_****_**Aramis!" **_**señora de la Vega exclaimed, grabbing onto the man. She managed to keep him from hitting the ground with too much force. She pressed her hands against his shoulder, her face pale. **_**"Señor!"**_**


	2. Summer, 1625 Part 2

**A/N: As promised, here is the second part to my tale. For those of you that were a little confused in the previous part, there is not as much Spanish dialogue. Again, thanks to LadyWallace for betaing. And I'll leave you all to enjoy.**

**2014: I continue my repairing of Spanish dialogue thanks to Arthanas' kind help. Her expertise has led to some tweaking to names and such in my work.**

* * *

><p>"Aramis!" Porthos and Athos shouted at the same time. Athos ran over from the spooked but still secure horses. Porthos let go of Senorita Marquez, which made the young lady drop unceremoniously back into the carriage, and jumped down next to his friend.<p>

Athos grabbed the marquesa's arms and pulled her away from the injured man. "Shoulder," Aramis explained through his teeth. He flinched as Porthos pulled his shirt and jacket away from the wound.

"How close to a physician?" the marquesa asked, leaning over Athos' shoulder.

"Figures the only one of us with medical knowledge would get himself shot," Porthos commented. You know, if D'Atagnan were here, he'd be recommending his mother's miracle salve."

Aramis almost smiled at that. "It's too far to find a physician," Athos answered shortly. "Señora, please move away." He bent closer over his friend. "We have to see if the bullet went through or not."

Aramis nodded once and bit his lip as his friends pulled him into a sitting position. Athos checked the injured man's back and breathed out once. "It's still in there," the dark haired musketeer announced. "We're going to have to dig it out."

"A moment, **_Señores!" _**the marquesa said. She straightened and turned to the carriage. **_"Carmen! La caja!Rápido!"_**

"**_Sí, Perita! Un momento," _**came the swift response over se**ñ**orita Marquez's wailing. Within moments, an elegant wooden box was pushed into view.

Grasping it, the marquesa knelt down and held it out to the men. "Your jewels are of no use to us here, Señora," Athos said derisively.

Shaking her head, the woman opened the box. There was a small glass bottle the length of the box. Three small, sharp knives gleamed in the sunlight. There was also a spool of fine thread with a silver needle held in place under the thread. A roll of pristine white cloth was rolled in one corner.

"I think this will be of some use to you," the young woman said in satisfaction.

"You think correctly," Porthos said, cracking a grin. His expression became serious as he looked at Athos. "You or I?"

"I will. Your strength will be needed in keeping him still," Athos said, taking the glass bottle from the box. He opened it and smelled the contents. His eyebrows went up as he glanced at the young woman. "Spanish wine?"

The marquesa shrugged once. "If someone must also drink it, it may as well be something worth drinking," she responded. She held the box steady as Athos got out what he needed. Porthos held the bottle to Aramis' lips to drink some of the wine. "Is there anything more I can do to assist you?"

"Señora, this is not the sort of thing a lady should see," Athos told her shortly. "You should assist your companions."

The woman narrowed her dark eyes at him. "**_No,Señor," _**she responded. "I stay here."

Swiftly, Athos looked at her. He shrugged once and poured brandy over the smallest of the knives. "You travel prepared for anything, don't you, Señora," Aramis commented. He hissed as Athos dumped a large amount of the alcohol on the wound.

"I do, yes," señora de la Vega responded, glancing down at him. "It comes from **_experiencia. _**Too many men have died from not having even these simple things on hand."

"What kind of exper-?" Aramis started to responded, but he broke off as Athos made the first cut. Aramis jerked in pain. Porthos held the smaller man down, pressing down on his shoulders. "Warn a man, Athos!"

"I think it's beneath your shoulder bone," Athos answered, frowning in concentration. "I can't...quite...get to it."

Aramis groaned. "Then, just bandage it and get me to a physician!"

"You'll bleed to death before we are anywhere near a physician!" Athos snapped back.

Porthos glanced between them. "You can't keep poking around for it," the big man said. "You'll make it worse than it already is."

"If the bullet doesn't come out now, infection will set in and Aramis could die," Athos responded sharply. He leaned back and shook his head. "Porthos, perhaps you could try."

Visibly, Porthos hesitated. Señora de la Vega looked between them. _**"**_**_¡Otra vez!" _**she said, getting the attention of all three men. Her tone was intense as she focused on Athos. "Try again. Time is running out."

Athos stared at her for a moment and then nodded. He bent closer, probing the wound again. Aramis swore. "Language, **_Señor," _****s**eñora de la Vega said. She reached down and took his hand in hers. "If the bullet does not come out now, you will die. That I do not want to happen."

Aramis' fingers tightened around the woman's and then he went completely limp. "Athos?" Porthos asked.

Fingers dripping blood, Athos pulled the bullet out of Aramis' shoulder. Breathing out, señora de la Vega let go of the unconscious man's hand and stood up. Without a word, she walked off the road, into the meadow.

"Señora!" Porthos said in surprise.

Señor Marquez had just helped Carmen down and the woman ran after the marquesa. _**"Perita**_**_! Perita, espera!" _**she called out pleadingly.

"**_Señores, _**how long before we can continue?" Marquez asked, looking over Athos' shoulder. "We have already fallen very far behind our schedule."

Ignoring the Spaniard, Athos and Porthos got Aramis upright and bandaged his shoulder. "Let's get Aramis out of the way first," Athos said. He nodded at Porthos as he got a hold of Aramis' feet. The injured man was carried between the other two to the side of the road.

"I don't suppose there's any of that brandy left," Porthos said, looking around for the bottle. He picked it up and held it upside down. "Maybe the marquesa has another bottle floating around her luggage somewhere."

Athos was surveying their situation. Señora de la Vega was already halfway across the meadow with the duenna not far behind. Señorita Marquez was sitting on the ground, sobbing her eyes out.

"Señor, we're going to need your help in getting the carriage upright," the musketeer said, striding towards the carriage. "Señorita, please move to the side of the road."

Startled, Señorita Marquez stopped crying and stared up at him. "Do as he says, Margarita," Marquez instructed her before facing Athos. "Very well, **_Señor. _**Tell me what you need me to do.**_"_**

* * *

><p>Between the three men, even though Marquez was of little use, they managed to get the carriage upright. Porthos and Athos checked every inch to ensure nothing had broken. The marquesa had not returned yet. "I'll go find the marquesa," Athos said, looking out at the meadow.<p>

"No, you harness the horses and I will go find her," Porthos said.

Athos raised an eyebrow, but nodded. As his friend began picking up the stray items that had come off the carriage, Porthos set off across the meadow. Near the tree line, he found the marquesa sitting by a small stream. She was scrubbing her hands in the water almost frantically.

"**_No piensses en ello, Perita. Lo pasado, pasado,"_**the duenna was saying, her tone soothing. She was rubbing her mistress's shoulders. The older woman looked back. _**"**_**_Señor!"_**

Startled, señora de la Vega spun around. "**_Señor _**Porthos**!" **she exclaimed, standing up swiftly. "Are we ready to go?"

She ran the sleeve of her dress across her face, but Porthos had already seen the tears. "Are you all right, Señora?" the man asked in concern. He cast a swift glance over her. Blood stained her dress, but he was pretty sure it was from Aramis.

"I am fine," she answered swiftly. "We should be going, no?"

Porthos nodded. "Athos is waiting for us."

Nodding, the marquesa started back. All three remained silent as they walked across the meadow. Back at the carriage, Athos had somehow managed to convince Marquez to help him get Aramis in the carriage. "There is no room!" señorita Marquez was objecting. She turned to her cousin. **_"Doña Maria, dígales que no hay espacio en el carro!"_**

"Señor Marquez will ride in the saddle," señora de la Vega responded, moving towards the carriage door. "If you object, Margarita, you may walk to Paris!"

Facing the back, the young marquesa took her seat next to the still unconscious Aramis. Grumbling, señorita Marquez climbed in, followed by the silent duenna. Closing the door, Porthos handed the maquesa her box before he climbed up to the driver's seat. Far behind schedule, the group set off once more.

* * *

><p>At the first inn they reached, señora de la Vega proposed stopping. His face lined with pain, Aramis had regained consciousness and insisted he could keep going. He declined any food when it was offered at noon. By mid-afternoon, though, the marquesa leaned out the window to speak to Athos, requesting they stop soon.<p>

Intent on getting her medical restocked, señora de la Vega accompanied Athos into the small inn. She drew the innkeeper's wife aside while her escort spoke to the innkeeper. Looking nervous, the man denied having any rooms available for foreigners.

Only when Athos cited being on the king's business and put his hand on his sword, did the innkeeper change his mind. Cowering slightly, he informed Athos that there were only two rooms available, but there was room in the barn for the gentlemen.

"I will not sleep in a barn," Marquez said in offense when Athos relayed the information. "I have to stay near the ladies. We will have to go elsewhere for accommodations."

Porthos glared at the man. "Never fear, Señor," he said coldly as he helped Aramis out of the carriage. "We would never deprive a gentleman such as yourself out of a room. The ladies will share the other room and we will stay in the barn. I'm sure the company there we'll enjoy much more anyway."

"Share a room?" señorita Marquez objected. "Papa! No!"

Leaving the Spaniard to deal with his daughter, Athos and Porthos got their friend to the barn. They made Aramis as comfortable as possible in the straw, and remained in the barn. Once, Porthos left for some food and wine.

"It was no ordinary ambush," Athos commented when he was lighting a lantern later that evening. "Those men were trained soldiers."

"And?" Porthos asked, pouring himself another tankard. "We dealt with them."

"I think Athos is more concerned with why such trained men would ambush us," Aramis said, trying to get more comfortable. He grimaced as he gave up. "With the fire in Calais, the thief of yesterday, and the ambush today, I think it's safe to deduce that someone wants the marquesa dead."

Athos drained the wine from his tankard. "You still think she's like Milady," Porthos said bluntly. He shrugged as Athos choked and Aramis glared. "There's no point in beating around the bush."

"If there can be one Milady, there's nothing to stop there from being a second," Athos responded, recovering himself. "The truth is we know nothing about the Marquesa de Molin."

The barn door squeaked as it opened. All three men reacted, reaching for their swords as they moved to their feet. Aramis only made it halfway up, falling back into the straw with a hiss of pain.

"I come in peace, with wine," señora de la Vega said, stepping into view. She held her hands up, displaying the bottle of wine in her right hand. "May I come in?"

Letting out his breath, Athos nodded as he slipped his sword back into the sheath. "You shouldn't be out here, Señora," he said. "Do you know what time it is?"

"No idea," the marquesa answered with a slight shrug of her shoulders. She cast a glance around and then walked to the straw pile where Aramis was. She took a seat and held out the bottle to Porthos. "Carmen had finally gone to sleep, so I could sneak out."

"Señora, you should go back inside," Porthos said, accepting the bottle. He grinned as he read the label. "But may I say, you have excellent taste in wine."

"Stop calling me 'señora'. I do not like it," the woman told him. "I had intended to get very drunk. However, I couldn't do it alone and the company in the tavern was a bit crude. Then, I considered that it wouldn't be very ladylike to get drunk and Anne wouldn't like it. So, I brought the bottle to share with you."

Aramis frowned at her. "How much have you had to drink?" he asked.

"Not very much. I can still think clearly, if that's what you're concerned about," señora de la Vega answered. "You were talking about me, were you not? You would have to be fools if you weren't, and I have it on good authority that you three are not fools."

Athos and Porthos exchanged looks. "I think you've had plenty to drink, Señora," Aramis said. "You should let Athos and Porthos take you back to your room. If you are to be presented to the king and queen tomorrow, you won't want to be suffering the effects of too much wine."

Frowning, the lady leaned over and put her left hand on his forehead. "Do you know you're running a fever?" she asked seriously.

Startled, Aramis pulled back. "Aramis!" Porthos said, moving forward. "You said you were feeling fine."

"I am," Aramis answered in annoyance, waving his friend away. "Señora-."

Furious dark eyes turned towards him. "I said stop calling me that!" she said sharply. "It is far too formal for one such as me. What is the point in being called the Marquesa de Molin, if I am no longer the bearer of that title? Bah, a courtesy and sham!"

"You said you were the marquesa when we met," Athos said, catching her wrist. He pulled her to her feet. "Are you saying that was a lie?"

"A lie? No, not as such," the woman answered, jerking free of his grasp. "It is as I said: a courtesy only. When there is a new Marques de Molin with a pretty wife by his side, I will no longer be the Marquesa de Molin. I will simply be the widow of the former marques, Doña Maria Esperanza de la Vega." She waved a hand dismissively. "But that's not important. We will be friends. Just call me Maria, and we will call this conversation done with."

Porthos shrugged. "I don't think I understood a word of what you said beyond to call you Maria," he said. "And that's easy enough. Maria, I think you're nuts."

The woman responded with a similar shrug. "Perhaps," she said. "But I have had someone trying to kill me, my husband was murdered, and I have been exiled from my country. I think it's all right for me to be 'nuts' at this point."

Under this flood of information, the three former musketeers blinked. "Your husband was murdered?" Porthos asked even as Athos said, "Do you know why you're being attacked?"

Señora de la Vega blinked, looking between them. "Perhaps you could begin at the beginning, Señora," Aramis said rationally.

Shrugging, she sat back down on the straw pile. "My husband was a close adviser to the King Philip IV," she said. "As you probably know, England declared war on Spain last year. Acting for Philip, my husband began to arrange alliances for support in the war. When he heard rumors of some new warship being built by France and England, and he wrote to France seeking more information."

The three men exchanged looks. "Whatever response he received worried him," the woman continued, her expression becoming sad. "He insisted we return to Madrid immediately, so he could speak to Philip. He rode ahead, and we found him later on that day. He'd been shot.

"The only thing he could say was 'The woman, Maria. She took the papers,'" señora de la Vega said, her voice catching. She paused and took a deep breath. "All of his papers were gone. Every correspondence, every note, everything he was entrusted by the king to keep, was gone."

"Milady," Porthos murmured. Athos nodded once.

"Those with me thought my husband was referring to me," señora de la Vega said, shaking her head. "The king was furious, especially when I insisted I didn't know about it. He took back the entire Marquis de Molin estate, leaving me only the title and the inheritance I received from my father. I was banished from the Spanish court, and left to find some way to survive on my own."

Frowning, Athos considered this information. "When it was discovered that I was coming to Paris, Vizconde Marquez was ordered to see me there," señora de la Vega added, "to make sure I wasn't in fact going to England."

"Buckingham must have sent Milady to kill de la Vega, to keep him from gaining allies," Athos said slowly, reasoning it out. "It's the only answer that makes sense. Because now, Señora-" The woman glared at him. "_DoñaMaria, _is coming to Paris, so someone here must consider her a threat."

"Richelieu," Aramis said.

Señora de la Vega shook her head. "Why am I a threat?" she asked. "I am only the queen's lady in waiting."

"That's enough for you to have the Cardinal's dislike," Porthos informed her, leaning against the stable wall. "First, you're Spanish. Second, you're a friend of the queen. Third, if your own countrymen think you had the papers, Richelieu might think the same thing."

"If that's all true, nothing I say will convince him of the truth, and so I am doomed," the lady said with a groan. She closed her eyes and fell back into the straw. "I will have only come to Paris to die."

Athos looked unimpressed by that statement. "A bit over dramatic, don't you think?" Aramis asked.

"A bit, yes," the young widow answered, opening her eyes. She stayed where she was in the straw. "But, it's true, none the less. From what I am told of the Cardinal, he has the power and influence to see that I am disposed of."

"Not if you have and keep the favor of the king," Porthos said. "After all, Richelieu doesn't control all of Louis' actions." Athos snorted and turned away. "Well, when it comes to matters concerning the queen, the Cardinal has little to no say. And Maria here would fall into that category."

"Actually, you may be onto something there," Aramis said, thoughtfully. "As long as she doesn't do anything to cast a bad light on herself, the king will gladly keep her in the court since she's s friend of the queen's. What could the Cardinal do then?"

"You forget the entire debacle of the Cardinal trying to discredit the queen's reputation," Athos pointed out, taking the bottle of wine Porthos still held. He poured himself a tankard. "The Cardinal is smart. If he wants her dead, he'll find a way to do it."

Sitting up, Maria brushed at the straw caught in her hair. "So, I am to make friends with the king, being careful not to take a single misstep in the process, and still the Cardinal may succeed in killing me?" she asked for clarification. Porthos nodded. Sighing, the lady got to her feet. "Well, it will be an adventure."

"You know, you just held an entire conversation without saying a word of Spanish," Aramis remarked.

The woman smiled. "My mother was French. It takes a little while, but eventually I slip back into it," she informed them. She pointed at Aramis. "And you. If that fever is not gone by morning, we will be stopping at the first physician I can find. _**¿**_**_Comprendes?"_**

"Yes, your highness," came Aramis' mocking response.

She became serious. "Thank you, for talking," she said quietly. "It was better than being drunk. Though that would have been equally as interesting, I think."

"That we will have to try sometime," Porthos told her with a grin. "May I walk you back to your chambers, Doña Maria?"

"You may."

Aramis waited until the pair had left the barn and looked at Athos. "Do you believe her?"

"I don't know," Athos said seriously.

* * *

><p>In the morning, Aramis insisted he was well enough to ride his own horse. Vizconde and señorita Marquez both looked resentful as they climbed into the carriage. Porthos climbed back up to take the reins.<p>

Each stop for fresh horses was brief and quick. At señora de la Vega's request, no time was taken for meals, causing señorita Marquez to complain even more. Even with these measures, the group fell even more behind schedule when the wheel on the carriage broke.

By the time Athos found someone who could fix the wheel, it was clear they were not going to reach Paris that day. Another night was spent in a small, dirty inn. It was just after noon when Paris came into sight.

Athos and Aramis rode ahead of the carriage as they got closer to the palace. "Athos! Aramis!" a familiar voice called out. D'Artagnan came up next to them on Buttercup. He grinned at his friends. "You're late!"

"Worried?" Aramis asked.

D'Artagnan just laughed, glancing back at the carriage. The paint was scratched and the one side was covered with dirt. He became very serious. "You must have had quite a journey," the boy commented. "What happened? You're all alright, aren't you?"

"We're all here," Athos said. "We'll tell you tonight.

The boy nodded. "I look forward to it," he said, pulling Buttercup away. "I'll tell Planchet to have a good supper ready."

As soon as D'Artagnan was out of sight, Aramis shifted in his saddle and reached for his wounded shoulder. "You will need to see a physician," Athos said, looking over at his friend.

"I'm fine," Aramis answered.

They passed through the palace gates. "Inform the king and queen that the Marquesa de Molin has arrived," Athos called out as one of the palace guards ran to greet them. He dismounted, and walked back to the carriage. He opened the door and held his hand out. "Doña Maria. We have arrived."

The woman took a moment and removed her cloak before she accepted his help out. She regarded the palace seriously. She was dressed in an elegant, red court dress. Carmen fussed at the lady's black hair, which was held high with a sparkling gold comb.

"Well, shall we?" señora de la Vega asked, glancing at her escorts.

"This way," Athos said, taking the lead as he normally would.

They left the Marquez's at the carriage with Carmen. Trying move without betraying his aching shoulder, Aramis took the back with Porthos. The lords and ladies in the court stared openly at the group as they entered the throne room. Señora de la Vega ignored them all, looking around with curiosity.

"His Majesty, the king!" echoed in the hall at the same time that another page announced, "Her Majesty, the queen!"

Louis came from one side of the room and Anne came from the other. Everyone went down on their knees. "Athos, you've returned," Louis exclaimed, sounding delighted as he hurried forward. He glanced over his shoulder. "See, Richelieu I told you my musketeers would be fine. When you weren't back yesterday, Richelieu said you must have had trouble on the road."

"Nothing of significance, Your Majesty," Athos responded, looking up.

An almost triumphant look on her face, Queen Anne brushed past Cardinal Richelieu as she approached the newcomers. "Doña Maria," she greeted, holding her hands out. "It is good to see you again." Placing her hands in the queen's, señora de la Vega stood up. "Louis, this is Doña Maria Esperanza Fernandez de la Vega, Marquesa de Molin."

"Madame, welcome to Paris," the king said. He glanced at the still kneeling men. "Stand up then. You have a great reward coming to you for this."

"Thank you for your kind welcome, Your Majesty, and I am pleased to hear that these men will be rewarded for their brave service to me," señora de la Vega said. She leaned close to the queen. **_"Es más de lo que dijiste!"_**

The last, spoken in a stage whisper, caught the king's attention. "What did she say?" he demanded immediately.

The queen blushed. "She said you look very dashing in green," she hedged.

"Oh, thank you," the king said, looking pleased. He studied the Spanish woman's appearance. "Tell me, Doña Maria, is red the new fashionable color in Spain now?"

"Indeed it is, Your Majesty," the woman answered. "Surely, though, you set the fashion in Paris. I have heard much of your excellent taste and that you gave Her Majesty the queen a very fine diamond necklace. I am anxious to see it."

She glanced at the Cardinal as she spoke. "Doña Maria, this is Cardinal Richelieu, the king's adviser," Queen Anne introduced.

The Cardinal extended his hand. "An honor, I'm sure," he said.

Curtsying, señora de la Vega kissed his hand. "I am very pleased to finally meet you," she said, looking up at him. "Her Majesty the queen has told me so much about in her letters; I feel I already know you."

Eyeing her skeptically, the Cardinal pulled his hand away and turned. "Your Highness, the meeting," he reminded.

"Right. Cardinal, see that these three get their reward," the king ordered, gesturing to Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. He looked at his queen. "I will see you later."

"We have a great deal to talk about, Doña Maria," Anne said, turning to her new lady in waiting as soon as Louis had left the room.

The Spanish woman nodded. "A moment, to say goodbye," she requested. The queen nodded, and señora de la Vega faced her escorts. She held out her hand. "Thank you. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate what you have done."

"This isn't goodbye, Doña Maria," Porthos said, taking her hand in his. "We'll see each other now and then."

"Especially if you happen to quarrel with the Cardinal's guards, Porthos?" Maria asked raising her voice. Ripples of laughter to spread through the court. She frowned as Aramis took Porthos' place and raised her hand to his lips. "If I find out that you have not consulted a physician, Aramis, I will be very unhappy with you."

Sighing, Aramis nodded. "I would never disappoint a lady," he promised.

Becoming very serious, Maria faced Athos. "If you should in any way become a threat to the king, you will answer to us," Athos warned in a low tone.

"Noted," the lady said, her tone grave. "And if you at any time upset the queen, I will hold you responsible."

Spinning around, señora de la Vega rejoined the queen. They walked out of the room, speaking in rapid Spanish and laughing like a pair of schoolgirls' sharing secrets. "Well, to home," Porthos said jovially. "I think Planchet will have gotten soft while we were gone. D'Artagnan always goes easy on him."

"Coming, Athos?" Aramis asked.

Abandoning his suspicious watch of the Spanish woman, Athos turned to his friends and nodded. "First, we must get you to a physician, Aramis," Porthos pointed out. "You did just give your word."

The former priest nodded in resignation. "How long before we get our reward?" he asked as they turned to leave the palace.

"Excuse me, _monsieurs!_" a musketeer came running up to them. "M. de Treville wants to see you immediately."

"Not very long, it seems," Athos said. "Let's not keep the captain waiting."

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!_**


	3. Fall, 1625 Part 1

**Again, thanks go to LadyWallace, who continues to be a helpful beta. **

**2014: Again, corrections made to the Spanish dialogue, courtesy of Arithanas who is so helpful in this regard.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Fall, 1625<em>**

Summer was slowly cooling into fall. The leaves were changing on the few trees to be found in Paris. And with the winter fast approaching, most of Paris was busy preparing for the cold. In the Musketeers Headquarters, though, preparations were being made for something else entirely.

"Every indication is that Buckingham is getting ready for an invasion," M. de Treville, Captain of the king's musketeers, said, laying down his reports. "I'd been hoping to avoid war." He eyed the three men standing in front of his desk. "I should have known it was impossible after your actions earlier this year."

Porthos found the ceiling worthy of his attention, while Aramis stared past the captain at the window. Only Athos met Treville's eyes. "It had to be done," Athos responded. "It was for the good of France."

"That's what you have said, but when you really get down to the matter, was it for revenge?" Treville asked. He held up his hand before any of the trio could make an answer. "I don't want an answer to that. You were obeying a direct request of the queen. That's not something that could be ignored."

He leaned back in his chair as he surveyed his three best men. "But I didn't call you here to rake you over the coals for past actions," he said. "At the king's request, you three are being sent on a mission."

The trio straightened even more to attention. "Yes, sir?" Aramis said.

"Her Majesty, the queen, is going on a visit to the country estate of the Comte de Carti," Treville informed them, consulting a paper to make sure he had the information correct. "You will escort her party there, remain as guards for the entire stay, and then escort her safely back to Paris."

"How long will the stay be?" Athos asked.

Again, Treville glanced at his letter. "It will take a day to get there, and the queen plans on remaining for three weeks," he answered. "Athos, I put you in charge of this mission. You may request as many of the musketeers as you believe will be necessary to fulfill your responsibility."

"Thank you, sir."

"Will it be a large party going?" Porthos asked.

Treville shook his head. "I believe five ladies in waiting will be journeying with you," he answered. He selected a paper and held it out. Aramis accepted it to peruse. "These are the other guests that will be at the estate during that time."

A light tap on the door interrupted them. "Enter," Treville said, starting to frown. A very young musketeer opened the door and stepped in. "Well, what is it?"

With the door now open, there could be heard a single raised voice. "Captain, there is a woman here," the young musketeer said nervously. "Somehow, she got past the gate, and she insists she needs to speak to you at once. She's…a Spaniard, sir."

Quickly, Athos, Aramis, and Porthos exchanged looks. "A Spanish woman is requesting to see me?" Treville asked in astonishment. He rose from his desk. "Is she so intimidating, or does she carry some weapon, for you to sound so unnerved, Rochlin?"

The young musketeer swallowed hard. "No, captain," he answered. "She's…she's scolding Gerard."

"What sort of woman manages to intimidate trained soldiers?" Treville asked. His eyes narrowed as he saw Porthos and Aramis were biting back grins. "This, I must see."

He hurried to the door. "I know of only one Spanish woman in Paris with the personality to intimidate soldiers," Aramis commented as he turned to follow the captain. Athos and Porthos were not far behind him.

Looking down at the entryway, Treville was astonished to find it unusually quiet. A few feet from the door, a young musketeer, Gerard, was blocking the path of a cloaked woman. As Treville watched, Gerard took a step back as the woman pointed a finger in the young man's face.

**"...me entiendes? Estoyaquí para ver al señor de Tréville, y no te interpodras en mi camino," **the woman snapped, her voice echoing in the large hall. **"Esa estupidezesde esparse en los guardias del cardenal,****¡****pero yono aquí!"**

**"Disculpe, señora. **Excuse me, señora," Treville said, hurrying down the steps. He waved for Gerard to leave. "I am Monsieur de Treville."

"I have been arguing with your musketeers for nearly fifteen minutes now, Señor!" came the sharp response in French. "I do not know whether to commend you for their stubbornness or to scold you for their...unfortunate similarity to those **idiotas **guards of the Cardinal!"

Treville took a step back under this barrage of words. Leaning against the railing, Porthos started laughing. "Insulting the musketeers is not the way to get on our captain's good side, Doña Maria," he called out.

Pausing mid-rant, the woman looked up. "Señor Porthos!" she exclaimed. "Señor Aramis! Señor Athos! Will one of you kindly explain to these men that I am not some crazy woman off the street?"

Surprised, Treville glanced over. "You know this woman?"

"Monsieur Treville, this is Doña Maria Esperanza Fernandez de la Vega, Marquesa de Molin, of Spain," Athos informed him seriously. "She is a lady in waiting of the queen's."

"She really is a crazy woman off the streets, then," Porthos quipped.

The young marquesa glared up at him. "Señor, I wonder if we might be able to speak in a more private area?" she asked, turning her attention to Treville. "What I have to say to you is of the utmost importance, and is very urgent."

"This way, Señora," Treville invited, gesturing to the stairs. He glanced at the still staring musketeers. "As you were."

Noise filled the hall as the men hastily returned to their previous activities. Maria climbed the stairs in front of Treville. When she reached the top, she held her hands out. "It is good to see you again," she said with a smile. "And we will be seeing more of each other very soon, yes?"

Porthos took her right hand and kissed it, while Aramis bowed over her left. "You will be accompanying the queen?" Athos asked.

"**Si, Señor Athos**," Maria responded calmly. She looked at Treville. "I have come to speak to you about that, Señor."

"In that case, I hope you don't mind that Athos, Porthos, and Aramis are present for this discussion," Treville said. "Athos will be in charge of the mission."

"No, I have no objection," Maria told him. "I would trust all three of these men with my life. And actually, I believe I have done so already."

The musketeers were still trying to watch out of the corner of their eyes were disappointed when their captain led the young woman out of their sight. Aramis closed the door as Treville invited Maria to sit in front of his desk. He walked around and took a seat.

"What about the journey did you want to talk about?" Treville asked.

"Her Majesty is concerned that Richelieu is planning something," Maria said bluntly. Aramis and Porthos stood on either side of her, while Athos stayed some ways back. "It was the Cardinal who arranged for this visit to be made, however, he and the king will not be any part of this expedition."

Treville frowned. "And?"

"I don't think I have to tell you that Anne does not trust Richelieu," the woman told him. "Anne is concerned that while she is gone, the Cardinal will persuade the king to take some action that she herself would object to."

Aramis shook his head. 'Then, why doesn't she change her plans?" the former priest asked.

"The king is anxious for Anne to form a better acquaintance with French nobles," Maria responded, looking up at him. "She has promised she will do so on this trip, and she will not go back on her word."

"Why does the queen wish me to know this?" Treville asked with a frown.

Maria sighed. "Anne requests you keep an eye on the king and Richelieu," the Spanish woman explained. "She knows the king respects your opinion and will listen to you. It will set her mind at ease to know someone will be here to advise against anything rash."

"It honors me that the queen believes I hold such a position, but-."

"The queen is aware that you could not prevent the king from doing something once he has decided," Maria interrupted, her tone firm. She regarded the captain very seriously as she leaned forward. "All she asks is that you not let the Cardinal manipulate the king."

Frowning, Treville studied her and then glanced at his musketeers. "This could have been conveyed in a message," he pointed out. "Why did the queen send you?"

The woman smiled. "Indeed, Señor," she said. "However, a message can be intercepted and taken from the bearer, while a lady in waiting on a walk is perfectly innocent. I was going on a walk anyway, so I was nominated for the job. What may I tell the queen is your answer?"

After remaining quiet for several minutes, Treville shook his head. "You may inform the queen, I will continue to keep my eye on palace affairs as I can," he said.

Nodding, Maria got to her feet. "Very well," she said. "I thank you for your time, Señor."

"Señora, you said my musketeers had an unfortunate similarity to the cardinal's guards," Treville said. "Please explain."

"Certainly," Maria said. "It is the immediate suspicion of me." She spread her arms out. "Do I appear very threatening?"

"You are when you're giving a tongue lashing in Spanish," Aramis remarked.

The lady laughed lightly. "Then, if I am ever threatened by the Cardinal or his guards, I shall have to keep that in mind," she said. "I do commend you on your men, Señor Treville. The Cardinal's men were distracted by another woman walking by, while yours were entirely focused on keeping me out."

"Was she pretty?" Porthos asked, curiously.

"Porthos, Aramis, you are dismissed," Treville said. "I would like to speak to Athos in private."

"May I walk you back to the palace, Señora Maria?" Aramis asked, holding the door open for the woman.

Athos rolled his eyes as Porthos growled. "You both may," Maria answered. "And I believe you have some explaining to do, Señor Aramis. Do not think I did not know you waited an entire week before you went to the physician. _**¿**_**_No dio su palabra sobre hacerlo de inmediato?_**I believe you promised to go immediately?**"**

Her tone had risen with annoyance. "Now you're in for it, Aramis," Porthos said gleefully.

"And you! Do not think you are blameless. You were to take him, Señor Porthos!" Maria snapped, turning on him. The door shut before Athos and Treville could hear the rest of the conversation.

The captain of the musketeers shook his head. "A remarkable woman," he said. "My men will face down any enemy, but are intimidated by a small Spanish woman." He gestured for Athos to take a seat. "Is she to be trusted, Athos?"

"She is a close friend of the queen," Athos answered carefully. "She has never given reason for suspicion."

"I suppose it shouldn't be any surprise that the Cardinal is arranging for the queen to be away to persuade the king to his way of thinking," Treville commented, drumming his fingers on the desk. "The queen and Richelieu have been practically at each other's throats since Anne arrived."

"What could the Cardinal be plotting now?" Athos asked.

Treville gestured to the stack of papers on his desk. "No doubt it has to do with war," he said. "All I can do is keep close watch on the situation and see how it develops." He shook his head. "I will handle things here, Athos. You carry out your mission."

"Yes, Monsieur," Athos said, standing up.

* * *

><p>It was mid morning the next week when Athos directed the musketeers into formation around the carriages. He alone knew in which carriage the queen was. Hooded and cloaked, like her ladies in waiting, the queen could not be distinguished from far away.<p>

Beaming with excitement, D'Artagnan moved to help Constance into her carriage. It hadn't been a surprise to anyone that the young man had been included in the mission.

"So, we are traveling again," Maria commented, pausing as Athos reached to help her in. "I would say this journey should be more relaxing for you, however-."

**"¡Dios mío! ¡No otra vez!" **Athos steeled himself before he turned to face the owner of that grating, feminine voice. Señorita Marquez was staring at him. "You three again? **¡De todas las cosas irritantes y desagradables…! No es posible que ellos sean los únicos mosqueteros en Francia, ¿verdad?" **

Sighing, Maria shook her head. "Margarita, all of these men are musketeers," she said, her tone patient. She looked back at Athos. "My apologies, Señor. Won't this be a fun party?"

"Not the word I would use, Señora," Athos responded.

Complaining in non-stop Spanish, señorita Marquez climbed in after Maria. Athos was not surprised to find the girl's father not far behind. Slamming the carriage door shut harder than was really necessary, Athos strode to his horse. "Move out," he called out.

"Just like old times, Athos," Porthos called out. "We better keep an eye on Aramis though. He got shot the last time we were all together."

Shaking his head, Athos led the convoy out of the courtyard.

* * *

><p>The Comte de Carti, Henri Germain, was everything that was gracious in greeting the queen. The journey to the estate had been unremarkable, save for the consistent Spanish that came from one particular carriage. Athos had assigned one of the younger musketeers there and rode at the front without any remorse.<p>

Marquez and his daughter were studying the estate manor as the queen spoke with the comte. "I have taken every precaution, Your Majesty," Carti said. "You will be as safe here as you would be in your own palace."

Anne smiled graciously, but glanced over at the musketeers. "I sent five men ahead to make sure, Your Majesty," Athos informed her.

Looking annoyed, the comte escorted the queen into the manor. "Spread out," Athos ordered, turning to the rest of the musketeers. "I have a schedule ready. I want five men on guard at all times."

"Senñorita Marquez," Aramis said, shaking his head. "And this was looking to be a very interesting trip."

His eyes were on one of the passing ladies in waiting. The young lady hurried on, giggling. "Aramis, we have a job to do," Athos told him. "Treville's information states that the comte is a loyal Cardinalist. No doubt he's hired his own guards for this event."

"And you want us to keep from fighting?" Porthos asked, his tone disappointed.

"No. I'm just warning you ahead of time so you can be ready."

* * *

><p>A musketeer remained within sight of the queen at all times, save for when she was in her private chambers. Tension began to rise when at least half of the other guests, all of whom were known supporters of the Cardinal, made some sort of disparaging remark about the musketeers' presence. The guards of the Comte showed the same disdainful attitude, which led to an incident the second night.<p>

It was very early when a guard was sent into the stable that was serving as the headquarters for the musketeers. He informed Athos that the Comte was demanding retribution for what had happened. Having had the story from Porthos already, Athos was not surprised to hear the message.

"Three men!" the Comte raged, glaring across his desk at the musketeer. "Three of my men, men who are necessary to guard the queen, left unconscious on the ground by one of your musketeers! I demand you punish your musketeers severely and without delay."

"If a single man could take out all three, they were too incompetent to be trusted with the protection of Her Majesty," Athos told the man. "As I understand it, your men provoked the fight in the first place."

The Comte's eyes narrowed. "Am I to assume from that statement that you will not be reprimanding your men?" he demanded. Athos said nothing, knowing he did not have to answer to this arrogant man for anything. "Then, I will report you to the king."

"Feel free."

There was a light tap on the door before it opened. "Señor Comte," Maria said, stepping into the room.

The Comte leaned back in his seat as Athos withdrew from the library. Porthos was waiting out in the hallway. "Am I to consider myself severely punished?" the big man asked.

"If you want," Athos answered. "Carti's men didn't admit to which of the musketeers was the culprit."

The door flew open and Maria stalked out, her dark eyes glittering with rage. She pulled the door shut with a jerk. "Señor Athos," she said, her tone a deceptive calm. "Will you kindly inform the Comte that Her Majesty the Queen desires a ride across the countryside?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Athos asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Apparently, when I speak, my accent makes it impossible for the Comte to hear me," Maria answered. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly in attempt to calm down. "If you would make the request, I will not have to go back to Anne without an answer. Otherwise, there will be trouble."

"You would think a nobleman with a title and all would be able to listen when a lady speaks," Porthos said, taking a step towards the door. "By all rights you out rank him. I'll be happy to make the adjustment to his manners."

Reaching out, Maria put her hand on the large man's shoulder, and shook her head. "It is not necessary, Porthos," she said, earnestly. She looked over at Athos. "Please, Athos? It is Her Majesty's wish to ride today."

"Porthos, go tell the Comte that the queen is going riding," Athos ordered.

Putting his hand over Maria's, Porthos squeezed her fingers and reached for the door. Without knocking, he strode in. Athos moved to make the necessary arrangements, but Maria stepped in front of him. When Athos attempted to step around her, the woman boldly put her hand on his chest to stop him. She and Athos stared at each other silently for several moments.

"Was there something else?" Athos asked.

"Yes," Maria responded, very seriously. She pulled her hand away to point at him. "You don't trust me. There is no point in trying to deny it, Athos. I know it to be true."

"How do you know that?"

Maria shrugged. "Your young friend, D'Artagnan, said so to Constance; Constance told Anne; Anne mentioned it to me," she answered. She smiled. "Irrefutable proof, yes?"

"And that's how you knew Aramis hadn't gone to a physician," Athos realized, almost amused. The woman shrugged again. "If you know I don't trust you, why must we discuss it, Señora?"

"My question is, then, what have I done that you do not trust me?" she said.

"You haven't done anything to give me a reason to trust you, Señora," Athos told her.

"Haven't I told you to call me Maria, not Señora? What will it take for me to get you to trust me?" she asked. Getting no immediate answer, she stepped forward and scanned his face. "What happened to you?" she asked, ignoring the squeak of the door opening. "What possibly could have happened that you don't trust people? How can you live life always suspicious like this?"

In the doorway, Porthos froze, his eyes flicking from Maria to Athos. "Señora, I would have been dead a hundred times over if I'd trusted people I'd just met," Athos told her sharply. "And women...women are naturally liars."

"Oh, I see," Maria breathed. She shook her head. "I am going to ignore that insult, Señor, to say this: whoever she was that hurt you so, I say she did not deserve you in the first place."

Athos' eyes narrowed. "Señora, I must ask that you not speak of matters you do not know," he snapped. Maria held her ground, staring at him. "You should know from your own experience that people will turn on you the moment they're done with you."

Startled, Maria took a step back. "And is this all you have to say to me?" she asked quietly.

Athos said nothing. "The Comte says the horses will be ready in an hour," Porthos announced quickly, filling in the awkward silence. "And you just tell me the next time anyone ignores you, Maria, and I'll set them straight."

"Gracias, Porthos," Maria answered, turning around. For the briefest of moments, Porthos thought he saw pain in her eyes, but then she smiled over her shoulder at him. "I will inform Anne."

She walked away. "Maria hasn't done anything to deserve that, Athos," Porthos said, scowling at his friend. "With all she has to deal with, the last thing she needs is you snapping at her."

"If you were smart, Porthos, you would have nothing to do with the Marquesa de Molin," Athos informed him sharply. "You are nothing to her but something to play with while she's here."

Before Porthos could react, Athos walked away.

* * *

><p>Smiling, the queen watched her ladies in waiting race across the meadow. The other house guests of the Comte were nearby, talking. Posted around the area, the vigilant musketeers kept watch, glaring every now and then at the guards the Comte had ordered to also stand guard.<p>

Turning her horse, Queen Anne rode over to where Athos stood sentinel. "Monsieur Athos," the queen said seriously. "Might I have a word?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," Athos answered, turning to face her. "What do you wish to speak to me about? I am doing everything in my power to keep you protected while you are here-."

"Monsieur, it is not that which I wish to peak of," she told him. "I know you will complete your mission to the best of your ability. But I must ask you not to hurt, even unintentionally, my ladies in waiting. They are very dear to me and serve me as faithfully as you do the king. They deserve respect."

Shifting uncomfortably, Athos made a slight bow. "As you wish, Your Majesty," he said.

"Pera has had a difficult time as of late," the queen continued, her tone fond and concerned at the same time, "as I know she has explained to you. I think you should know how highly she regards you and your two friends. She has frequently called you her friends, and there are not many who have that claim to her."

"Your Majesty!" the Spanish woman they were speaking of called out. "Shall we race? Say from one end of the meadow to the other? The loser gets to tell the winner a secret."

With a light laugh, Anne rode to join her lady in waiting. Thoughtfully, Athos watched as the queen and Maria came side to side. At some unseen signal, the pair kicked their mounts into action, racing across the meadow.

"Now there is something I never would have expected." Athos turned at the unfamiliar voice. A nobleman was smirking at the musketeer while speaking to another man beside him. "A musketeer, a man who's supposed to be courageous and brave, being scolded by a woman. Its laughable! And these are the men who are to be the protectors of France?"

"I find nothing funny about accepting the Queen of France's council," Athos said.

"Are you speaking to us, soldier?" the man asked in exaggerated astonishment. "The gall of some of these peasants"

Athos stepped forward, his eyes flashing with anger. "Deaf, then, as well as disrespectful," he said. "I will be happy to cure you of both ailments, Monsieur."

The other nobles took a step back. "Monsieur?" the nobleman repeated in shock. "Do you not know who I am? I am the Viscomte de Chagny!"

"Athos!" D'Artagnan came racing up on Buttercup. He glanced between Athos and the group of nobleman, aware he'd interrupted something but unsure as to what it was. "Pierre caught a man, armed with a pistol, trying to go out on the field. We're holding him for you."

Nodding, Athos turned to mount his horse. "Run along little musketeer," Chagny taunted. "Run along and protect the Spanish woman."

Immediately, Athos spun around. "Those are fighting words," he said.

"As if I would dirty my blade with the likes of you," the man said, his tone bored.

Curling his fingers into a fist, Athos stepped forward and punched the man. Chagny reeled and fell to the ground. "Tomorrow morning at dawn," Athos said, looking down at the man. "At this place."

Everyone had turned to look. "I'll be here, Monsieur," Chagny said tightly.

Turning his back on the man, Athos strode over and mounted his horse. He saw D'Artagnan staring at him in astonishment. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Later that evening, a very helpful maid directed Aramis to the wing where the ladies in waiting were staying. He glanced at the many doors that lined the hallway. Señorita Marquez came out of one, jerked the door closed, and started in the opposite direction, anger in every step she took.<p>

"Excuse me, Señorita," Aramis called out. The young woman paused and turned. Aramis ignored the look of disgust on the woman's face. "I am looking for Doña Maria. I need to speak to her. Can you tell me which chamber is hers and if she is there?"

Señorita Marquez stared at him. "Why would I help you?" she asked, her tone disdainful. "And what could you possibly have to talk to her about?"

"Never mind," Aramis said. He stepped to the first door and raised his hand to knock.

"Oh, very well. You will only make yourself annoying if I do not," señorita Marquez said with an exaggerated sigh. When Aramis looked over, the woman had started to smile. She gestured at a door on her left. "Just go in. Perhaps you can get her out of this blue mood."

Suspicious of this abrupt helpfulness, Aramis frowned. Impatiently, The young lady stepped over and opened the door herself. "Doña Maria!" she called out. She turned and walked away, leaving the door open.

Still perplexed, Aramis stepped into the room and froze. Long black hair falling around her face, the young woman turned her head. Her eyes widened in shock and water splashed as she moved. "Aramis!" she shrieked, ducking down below the rim of the bathtub. "What do you think you're doing? Get out!"

Swiftly, Aramis grabbed the door knob and pulled the door shut. Something glass shattered against the other side of the door.

"Monsieur!"

Turning, Aramis found Constance staring at him in shock. "Good evening, Constance," he greeted, clearing his throat. Laughter echoed in the hallway and Aramis caught sight of Señorita Marquez vanishing down a connecting hallway.

Her face fiery red, Constance hurried on her way. Aramis was left standing alone in the middle of the hallway. He glanced once at the door and walked away quickly.

* * *

><p>That night, D'Artagnan came off his guard shift and joined his three friends out there. He glanced at Athos and Aramis, and took a seat next to Porthos. He put his head in his hands. "All right," Athos said, taking his pipe from his mouth. "What's on your mind, boy?"<p>

"Why would anything be on my mind?" the young Gascon hedged, looking up.

"Out with it, D'Artagnan," Porthos said.

Sighing, the boy shook his head. "Fine," he responded. "Constance is mad at me because of you two." He pointed first at Athos and then at Aramis. "We argued and now she won't speak to me."

Raising his eyebrows, Porthos looked between his two friends. "What did they do?" he asked.

"Constance wouldn't say!" D'Artagnan answered. "All I know is that it has to do with Señora de la Vega."

Porthos was amazed to see Aramis look very uncomfortable. "Well, I know what Athos did to upset Maria," Porthos said, "but what did you do, Aramis? I thought you liked Maria."

"It's not important," Aramis responded quickly.

"Not important?" Porthos repeated. "How can it be 'not important' if it upset her. Tell me you didn't snap at her like Athos did."

"There was a misunderstanding between us," Aramis answered. "That's all."

Still amazed, Porthos shook his head. "Well, I suppose this explains why Maria didn't want to speak to me earlier," he said. "I saw her through the window and called out, but she turned her back on me. She probably thinks we all are unworthy of her friendship."

"Why are you being held accountable?" Athos asked D'Artagnan.

The Gascon shrugged. "The queen's not happy since Señora de la Vega is upset," he said. "According to Constance, the queen is going to ask the king to give all of the musketeers a reprimand for the way they've been treating her ladies in waiting, unless an apology is made."

"And how did you argue with your lady over this?" Porthos asked.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I said it wasn't fair for her to be mad at me," he answered. "Constance says your my friends, and I have to be judged by the company I keep."

"I'll apologize, if it will help smooth things over," Aramis said swiftly. He looked over at Athos, who looked none too pleased with this turn of events. "Would you rather have the king reprimand the entire corps and have Treville come down on us?"

"I will speak to her after the duel tomorrow," Athos answered, his tone reluctant. "The queen already hinted that I should do so."

D'Artagnan straightened up. "What did you learn from the man we caught earlier?" he asked.

Athos shook his head. "He wouldn't say a word," he answered. "Carti insisted he be allowed to deal with the man. I just learned that the man got a hold of a knife and killed himself."

"Do you think the queen is in danger?" Porthos asked.

"I don't see how harming the queen will aid the Cardinal in any way, but I think it a possibility she is in danger here," Athos answered slowly. He shook his head. "Carti is loyal to the Cardinal and he is in the position to do something if Richelieu were to ask it of him."

"Could he get away with something like that?" D'Artagnan asked with a frown. "Wouldn't he be punished by the king?"

"Carti is smart enough not to allow himself to be implicated," Athos responded. "This is only speculation and cannot go any further than us four."

The other three nodded. "We should turn in," Aramis said. "With a duel at dawn, multiple apologies to make, we have a busy day tomorrow."

* * *

><p>Athos reached the meadow just before dawn. A light fog was still visibly over the damp grass. Porthos flanked his right side while Aramis was on his left. D'Artagnan had wanted to come, but Athos had ordered the younger man stay behind. The trio waited for the arrival of the viscomte.<p>

The sun had risen above the horizon before the nobleman arrived, followed by his seconds. The Viscomte de Chagny nodded at something his friend said. "Well, I can't accuse you of having no honor," the nobleman remarked, shrugging off his jacket. He unsheathed and raised his rapier. "En garde, musketeer."

"If Athos wasn't already fighting him, I'd challenge him myself for that insult to the corps. There is more honor in one musketeer than that man has in his entire family," Porthos said in a low voice. Aramis nodded his agreement.

Two steel blades met and for a very long minute, the two duelists stared at each other. Chagny was the first to attack, his rapier thrusting forward quickly. Athos moved just as fast, parrying the other blade. After that, blows were exchanged fast and hard. As the younger of the two, Chagny was just the tiniest bit faster than Athos. However, the musketeer had much more experience on his side. Still, Chagny drew the first blood, the tip of his blade darting through Athos' defenses to slice into the older man's right arm.

Hissing, Athos recoiled, but didn't drop his sword. Chagny chuckled, a cruel smirk curving his lips. "Do you yield, old man?" he taunted.

In answer, Athos made a swift and wide slash. Caught off guard, Chagny was forced to jump back to avoid the attack. His triumphant smirk morphed into an annoyed scowl. But he didn't allow his anger to affect his sword play.

Watching the pair, Porthos shook his head. "How is that four of us can easily take on forty of the cardinal's guards," he said, "but when it comes down to a duel, it is so much more difficult?"

Aramis snorted. "What part about that fight was easy?" he asked. "We must be remembering different situations, Porthos."

Porthos' eyes narrowed as he saw Chagny reach to his jacket. "Foul!" he shouted, stepping forward. He reached for his sword as the viscomte's seconds darted in front of him. "Athos, watch out!"

Chagny drew a slender dagger from beneath his jacket and attacked with even more ferocity. He knocked Athos' sword to the side and drove his dagger towards Athos' heart.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I love my cliffhangers far too much. So, I'll be gone for a few months now...I'm kidding! The next chapter to complete this second part of my tale will be up shortly.**


	4. Fall, 1625 Part 2

**A/N (2014): More Spanish corrections! I really, really have to stop using online translators...**

* * *

><p>Seeing the blade gleam in the morning sun, Athos brought his left hand up and grabbed Chagny's wrist. "I should have known a slanderer would be a coward and cheat as well," Athos said, twisting the nobleman's wrist. He forced the man to drop the dagger and shoved him away.<p>

Scowling, Chagny regained his balance and tightened his grip on his sword. He attacked, his rage slowing him slightly. Athos saw his chance and took it. The musketeer deflected the nobleman's blade aside and swiftly brought his own sword up. He ran his blade through Chagny's shoulder.

Crying out in pain, Chagny dropped his sword and went down on his knees. Athos pulled his sword free. He glanced over to see what had happened to his friends and Chagny's seconds.

The two men that had arrived with Chagny were on the ground, still alive but bleeding. Knowing that it would cause trouble if the men were killed, Aramis and Porthos had left the men with their lives. Obviously. Chagny had wanted there to be no witnesses left alive to tell anyone about his act, had he actually killed Athos.

"Kill me already," Chagny hissed, looking up at Athos. "I won't beg for mercy from the likes of you."

"You can keep your life," Athos told him coldly. He brought his blade up and rested the bloody tip against Chagny's throat. "However, if I should ever hear that you've been uttering insults against the queen of France, know that I will find you and kill you then."

Chagny scowled, but nodded once. Athos lowered his blade and turned away. "How bad is it?" Aramis asked, leaving Porthos to keep his eye on the groaning men. The former priest reached to have a better look at the wound. "Athos, let me see."

"It's just a flesh wound," Athos insisted. He caught sight of a figure, cloaked and hooded, standing at the edge of the meadow. "Aramis. Porthos."

His two friends turned to see what he was nodding at. After a moment, the woman turned and walked, not towards the mansion but in the opposite direction. "Was that Maria?" Aramis asked as the woman vanished among the trees. "What is she doing out here?"

"I don't know," Athos answered. "Porthos, go see."

"I'm not going to spy on her," Porthos objected. He shrugged after a moment. "I suppose I could catch up and ask what she's doing."

He started off, 'accidentally' kicking one of Chagny's seconds on his way past. Athos grimaced as Aramis carefully prodded the wound to see how bad it really was. "Aramis!" Athos snapped, trying to jerk away. "Leave it, or I swear I will hit you."

* * *

><p>Not long after he had gone after the woman, Porthos caught sight of her in a small clearing in the woods. He was about to call out to her when he saw a horse approaching. The rider paused for only a moment and took something the woman held out to him. He turned his horse and raced away.<p>

Frowning, Porthos stepped behind the largest tree he saw. He heard twigs snap as the woman walked past. He edged around and began to follow her. It wasn't hard to do for she went straight towards the mansion. It was only when she slipped through the kitchen door that Porthos hesitated.

"Porthos!" D'Artagnan called out. "How did the duel go? Where's Athos and Aramis?"

"Chagny tried to cheat," Porthos said. He clapped the younger man's shoulder. "Forgive me, D'Artagnan, I need to go catch up with Maria."

"Why?" At the woman's voice, Porthos and D'Artagnan turned. Maria stood in the doorway, her arms crossed. She'd taken her brown cloak off. "You were following me?"

Porthos swallowed hard as D'Artagnan backed off. "I saw you at the meadow," Porthos said. "I tried to catch up to you. We need to talk about-."  
>Maria held up her hand. "This is beyond insult," she said, her tone cold. "First, Athos made it very clear he does not trust me and after whatever happened that made him so distant and suspicious, I was willing to forgive him. Then, Aramis walks into my chambers unannounced. Now you follow me! I have had enough of this, Porthos!"<p>

"Maria, I wasn't-," Porthos broke off. "Aramis walked in on you in your chambers?"

"While she was bathing," D'Artagnan offered, his tone helpful. Maria glared at him. "Gerard heard it from one of the Comte's guards this morning. By now everyone knows."

"If you didn't-," Maria started to say. She paused and closed her eyes. "You musketeers have made it very clear that you are so very superior to me. I won't inflict my friendship on you."

She spun on her heel and stalked back inside. Porthos stared at the door for a moment before turning. His eyes narrowed as he saw señorita Marquez watching from the far side of the courtyard. The young woman turned and walked away. Scowling, Porthos started for the stables.

"Porthos?" D'Artagnan asked uneasily. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go kill Aramis."

* * *

><p>Unfortunately for Porthos, Aramis had bandaged Athos' wound and had gone to replace one of the patrols on the border of the immediate Carti estate. Not even asking why Porthos wanted to bring an end to Aramis' life, Athos managed to convince the large man that it would be best to wait until after their mission to kill their friend.<p>

Mid-morning, a lady in waiting, one the musketeers hadn't met personally, ventured into the stables. Her tone cool, she informed them that at three o'clock the queen wanted Athos to present himself before her in the West Drawing Room. It was not a request.

When he rejoined his friends that afternoon, Aramis was surprised by Porthos' pointed silence. He was still trying to get Porthos to talk to him when they and D'artagnan followed Athos to the specified Drawing Room. They remained outside while Athos walked in.

Queen Anne sat at the far end of the Drawing Room, her ladies in waiting assembled behind her. None of them were smiling. The marquesa was standing at the queen's right hand. Athos bowed and waited for Anne to speak.

"It was brought to my attention that you fought a duel this morning, Monsieur," the queen finally said after several long seconds.

"That's true, Your Majesty."

"It has also been related to me that you fought this duel over some insults that your opponent uttered," Anne continued. She glanced to her right. Maria nodded once, looking everywhere but at Athos. "And also that these insults were directed at not only the Musketeers, but also towards Spaniards."

Shifting uncomfortably, Athos nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty," he said.

The queen gestured once. Maria walked forward and held out a silver tray. A gold ring, with diamonds and rubies, gleamed on the tray. "As the king is not here to reward you for your bravery and courage, I offer you this ring as thanks," the queen informed the surprised musketeer.

Athos reached out and took the ring. Maria turned and walked back to her place at the queen's right hand. "Thank you, Your Majesty, but this was not necessary," he said.

"Perhaps, but take it anyway," the queen told him. "You may go now."

Bowing again, Athos backed out of the room. He was about to go out when he paused. "Your Majesty," he said. "I offended you and one of your ladies in waiting. I would like to offer my sincerest apology for doing so."

"I accept," the queen replied, smiling for the first time. She looked over at Maria.

For a moment, Maria just stared at Athos and then nodded once. "Your apology is accepted by me as well, Señor," she said.

The door of the Drawing Room opened and the Comte de Carti walked in. Whatever he had wanted seemed to fly from his mind as he saw Athos. "Musketeer!" the Comte snapped on seeing Athos. "You injured one of my guests! This is unacceptable, do you hear me? I will not stand for this kind of insult."

"Comte, I must ask you to knock or announce yourself before you enter these rooms," Queen Anne said, her tone sharp. "I was having a private meeting with Monsieur Athos."

Swiftly, the Comte turned to face her. He bowed low. "My apologies, Your Majesty," he said, "but this man-."

"I am aware of what happened," the queen interrupted, getting to her feet. "Monsieur, you should return to your duties. Comte, my ladies in waiting and I will be walking in your garden. Please do not disturb us."

The comte was forced to step aside when Athos pushed him back to make way for the queen. The women walked out. "Good day, Comte," Athos said, dropping his hand. Before Carti could stop him, the musketeer walked out into the hallway. He gestured for his friends to follow him down the hallway.

"So, are you in trouble?" Porthos asked, pushing away from the wall. The last lady in waiting was just turning the corner down the hall.

"The queen wished to reward me for defending the honor of the musketeers and Spaniards," Athos informed them. He held up the ring. "This ought to keep Planchet satisfied for awhile."

"Does that mean the musketeers aren't going to be reprimanded?" D'Artagnan asked hopefully.

Athos shrugged. "I apologized, if that's what you're asking," he said. "Whether it was enough...well, we'll soon see."

"One down, two to go," D'Artagnan said.

"Two?" Athos repeated. "Who else has managed to insult Señora Molin?"

They left through the kitchen. "Porthos," D'Artagnan answered, ignoring the big man's efforts to shut him up. "She saw him following her this morning, and confronted him about it." He grinned. "You three always do things together don't you? First you offend her, Aramis walks in on her while she's bathing, and Porthos follows her."

"Really?" Athos said, turning towards Aramis. "A little bold, don't you think?"

"Señorita Marquez opened the door and told me to go in," Aramis said defensively. "I didn't know...It was an accident."

Porthos eyed him suspiciously. "I will be very glad when this mission is over with," Athos said emphatically. He paused. "Porthos, you never said what you saw her doing this morning."

Looking troubled, Porthos hesitated. "She met a horse and rider," he answered. "Maria handed him something and then he rode off."

"If all she was doing was sending a message, there's no reason for her to have to do it in secret like that," D'Artagnan said. He looked at Athos. "What do you think she's up to?"

"I don't know, but I intend to find out."

* * *

><p>By the end of the day, Porthos seemed to have accepted Aramis' explanation. At least, he was no longer glaring and ignoring Aramis. Still, when the shift changed and the former priest spotted Maria walking in the gardens at dusk, he hurried to catch up to her. An apology was in order, and it had been put off too long.<p>

"Doña Maria?" Aramis called out as he entered the tall hedges. "Doña Maria, may I speak with you?"

There was no answering call. Sighing, Aramis began to make is way through the maze. "Doña Maria, I want to apologize to you," he said, loudly. "It wasn't my intention to embarrass you or insult you. When señorita Marquez opened your door, she didn't say you were...bathing. Will you forgive me?"

Again, there was no response, though he did hear strange, muffled sounds. "Maria?" Aramis called again. He turned a corner and finally spotted the woman.

One of the Comte's guards had the woman pinned against the cobblestone wall that surrounded the maze. She was struggling against the man, trying to get free of his grip and kiss.

"Leave her alone!" Aramis shouted, running forward. He unsheathed his sword as he move.

The guard lifted his head and turned. Without hesitation, Aramis stabbed the man in the shoulder. Dragging her right hand over her mouth, Maria shoved the guard away. Startled, Aramis kept his grip on his sword and his blade pulled free of the man. Groaning, the guard fell to the ground.

"Why would you trust anything that spoiled child says to you?" Maria demanded, facing Aramis.

Dumbfounded, Aramis glanced down at the guard. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I am fine," Maria answered, waving her hand dismissively. She glared at Aramis and put her hands on her hips. "Now, explain to me why you trusted, of all people, señorita Margarita Marquez. Are you such an **_idiota _**that you would believe a word she says?"

"What were you doing out in the forest this morning?" Aramis demanded "I'm not the only one who has explaining to do!"

The guard groaned again, but was ignored. **"¿Soy yo quien debe explicarse?"** Maria exclaimed, her tone frustrated. **_"_****¡Increíble!**You want to know what I was doing? Fine! You musketeers already had me followed, why shouldn't I tell you? I was delivering a message for the queen."

"And you had to sneak out to do it?"

"I didn't pick the place, Aramis," Maria snapped. "That is where the queen instructed Margarita to tell me to go." She shook her head. "This is getting off topic! You listened to Margarita. Why?"

"How else was I supposed to find you?" Aramis asked. "Short of knocking on every door, I had no choice but to accept that she was telling me the truth about which room was yours. It was important to talk"

Maria glanced down. "Pistol," she said. Aramis looked down to see the guard lifting a pistol. Aramis stabbed the man's arm and kicked the pistol away. "Still, you could have said something before just walking into my chambers, Aramis. That is what was so insulting!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Apology accepted," Maria said to Aramis, her tone still cool. "Shall we walk to somewhere a little bit more pleasant? I'm sure this man will want to drag himself off to his friends and find a physician."

Aramis offered his arm. "You know Porthos was furious when he found out," he told her as they walked down the darkening path. "D'Artagnan says he even threatened to kill me."

"I knew I liked Porthos for some reason," Maria answered. She giggled. "I suppose it was a bit amusing. The look on your face when you realized what I was doing…**¡Estabas atónito!**For one whom Porthos assures me has had many mistresses over the years, you are easily embarrassed, Aramis."

After a moment, Aramis chuckled. "I was taken by surprise," he admitted. "If it had been under other circumstances though-."

"**¡Ni lo menciones!**We do not need to think about that road, **_amigo _**Aramis," Maria interrupted firmly. They reached the edge of the garden. "I must return to the queen now. Thank you for coming to my rescue. That is the second time since we met."

"A pleasure, Maria," Aramis assured her. He lifted her hand to his lips. "Good night."

"**_Buenas noches," _**Maria responded. She pulled her hand free and hurried for the door.

* * *

><p>The next morning, the queen sent word that she wanted an early ride. The Comte's guards, of which there seemed to be fewer and fewer, looked weary. The musketeers, however, stood with pride at their posts. The Comte de Carti did not look pleased.<p>

After only a few rounds around the meadow, the queen proclaimed she wanted a ride across the countryside to see the fall colors. When the group set out, Athos took the lead, while D'Artagnan and Aramis were at the back. Porthos maneuvered into a place next to Maria at the edge.

"You could have just asked," Maria said without looking at him.

"What?" Porthos asked in surprise.

The woman looked over. "You could have asked me what I was doing," she said. "In the forest. You were there, but you didn't say anything. All you did was follow me, hoping you could figure out what I was doing."

"It was obvious you didn't want to be seen," Porthos answered defensively.

"Why would you say that?" Maria demanded. "I was delivering a message for the queen! I had nothing to hide!"

"And that's why you were meeting the messenger in the middle of a forest practically at dawn," Porthos pointed out.

Maria glared at him. "As I said to Aramis last night, I did not chose the time or place," she said sharply. "Margarita handed me the note and gave me the queen's instructions. I did as I was told. **_Ni más, ni menos. _**Nothing more, nothing less."

"You have to admit it looked strange."

After a moment, Maria shrugged. "**Supongo.**I suppose, yes, it must have," she answered. "I do not appreciate being looked at like I am a traitor, Porthos. I have had enough of that in my life."

"Señora, please accept my humble apologies," Porthos said. "It won't happen again."

"It better not," Maria told him sharply. She smiled. "Thank you, Porthos. This entire stay has been one misunderstanding after another."

Porthos grinned at her. "So…Aramis caught you bathing?"

"Porthos, I do not want to speak of that!"

"One thing I don't understand," Porthos told her, becoming serious. "If you're such good friends with the queen, why didn't you get your instructions from her personally? Why was señorita Marquez even involved?"

Frowning, Maria looked thoughtful. Before she could say anything, there was the sound of a musket firing. The queen's horse reared back in fright as dirt flew up in front of it. "Anne!" Maria exclaimed, kicking her horse's sides to catch up to the queen.

"The ridge!" Athos shouted, wheeling his horse around and pointing at the row of trees that was some ways from the road they'd been following. "Porthos! Get the queen to the mansion! Half of you go with Porthos. The rest of you with me to the ridge!"

With the expertise of a skilled horsewoman, the queen calmed her horse and turned. With her ladies in waiting surrounding her, and the musketeers on all sides, Anne kicked her horse into a gallop to return to the Carti mansion.

Aramis and D'Artagnan raced from the back to join the rush on the ridge. Another musket shot sounded, but the shooter was obviously getting panicked for the bullet went wild. Athos was the first to reach the ridge, his pistol in hand. He spotted a man running towards a saddled horse.

Taking careful aim, Athos fired. Bark sprayed off a tree as the bullet hit right next to the fleeing man. Leaning low over his horse's neck, D'Artagnan raced past Athos. Just as the shooter began to mount his horse, the young Gascon caught up and leapt onto the man.

Both men hit the ground. "You're not going anywhere!" D'Artagnan said, managing to pin the man to the dirt.

"Good work, D'Artagnan," Athos said, dismounting quickly. He grabbed onto the shooter's arms and pulled him up. "You are under arrest for attempting to kill the queen of France. A crime like that earns the punishment of a walk to the executioner. Now move."

* * *

><p>It came as no surprise that the queen announced that afternoon that she was returning to France the following the day. Athos assigned one of the other musketeers to leave at once for Paris with a message to inform M. de Treville of the change. The musketeer also carried a note for the king from the queen's hand.<p>

To apologize for such an upsetting visit, Carti ordered a great feast in the queen's honor to be served that night. The musketeers were on edge, watching each new maid and servant that entered the mansion.

The shooter they'd captured could tell them nothing. All the man said was that he'd received an anonymous letter stating that if he managed to kill any member of the queen's group at any point, he would be richly rewarded. The man pleaded the starvation of his family as just cause for accepting the assignment. A local magistrate had taken the man and put him in the stocks.

"I don't like this," Athos said, watching the courtyard carefully. A young maid cowered under his close scrutiny, hurrying away with her basket of scraps. "There are too many unknowns."

"There's nothing else that can be done," Aramis answered, staring at one of the stable hands. "We can't leave until tomorrow, else we'd have to stay at an inn along the way. That would be even more dangerous than what we're facing now."

Through the open door, they could hear the bustle of the servants getting the dishes from the kitchen to the table. "It has to be someone in Carti's employ," Athos said. "But there are too many to question."

"Anne is worried."

Turning, the two musketeers found Maria standing a few steps away from them. "Shouldn't you be in there at the feast?" Aramis asked.

"Yes," Maria said. She wrapped her arms around her waist and shivered. "France is colder than Spain."

"Is there something you wanted?" Athos asked.

The woman shrugged. "Polite company," she answered. "It seems I can only get it from you lot. A most perplexing situation as I was told long ago that all you musketeers do is drink and fight."

"What's perplexing about that?" Aramis asked. "That's true as far as I know."

"Perplexing that I don't mind it at all," Maria answered. Her laugh cut off as she frowned. She pushed past the musketeers and rushed across the courtyard. **_"_****¿Qué pasa, Señorita?**What is wrong?"

The maid that had hurried out of the kitchen not long ago, was sitting on the stones, hunched over. Aramis and Athos followed Maria to the girl. "Pardon me, Madame," the maid said, her breathing ragged. She struggled to get to her feet. "I'll return to my work."

"You are unwell!" Maria exclaimed, kneeling down. She reached out to touch the girl, but Aramis caught her wrist. "Aramis!"

"Mademoiselle, what did you eat?" Athos demanded.

Puzzled, Maria looked from Aramis to Athos. "The...the soup," the girl whispered. "It looked...so good. I just...wanted...to try..."

Maria sucked in her breath as the girl slumped completely. Aramis let go of the Spanish woman's wrist and began to pray. "Poison?" Maria asked as Athos spun on his heel.

Athos didn't respond and he strode towards the kitchen. Getting to her feet, Maria hesitated once and then followed Athos, leaving Aramis to look after the maid's body. In the kitchen, all the servants had seen the brooding musketeer earlier and were quick to move out of his way.

"Did the soup get taken up?" Athos demanded, spotting one of the serving boys.

Frightened, the boy nodded. Athos continued on his way, weaving his way through the hallways. One of the comte's guards tried to block his way into the dinning room, but Athos merely drew his sword. The guard backed down immediately. Athos pushed the dinning room door open.

All conversation came to a halt. Athos looked around the room, finally spotting the queen at the end of the table on the far side of the room. In her hand was a spoon. "Your Majesty!" Athos shouted. "The soup is poisoned!"

Multiple spoons clattered against the dishes. "That is preposterous!" Carti exclaimed, standing up. "Every dish was tasted by-."

"A maid is dead," Maria called out, coming up beside Athos. "She'd tasted the soup."

Her face pale, Queen Anne rose from her seat. "Comte, I will be returning to my room," she announced. "Rest assured, my husband will have this matter looked into!"

As the queen moved around the table, Maria hurried to join her. Keeping his eyes on the comte, Athos was surprised to see the Carti genuinely looked puzzled. "Several of my men will be remaining to question everyone," Athos informed the nobleman. "There will be consequences for this."

* * *

><p>As before, only Athos knew which cloaked woman was the queen and which carriage she entered at dawn. Giles and Gerard were left at the Carti estate. Athos trusted Giles to investigate the matter completely. The man had the patience and determination for the task.<p>

To say that King Louis was concerned when they arrived back in Paris would be an understatement. The young king demanded to know what had happened. M. de Treville was also present, and his look said he also would require an explanation immediately.

"Señor de Treville!" Maria exclaimed, hurrying forward. She beamed at the captain of the musketeers, startling everyone in the room. "I wish you could have seen it! There was a young nobleman speaking out of turn deriding the musketeers, and Señor Athos defeated him in a duel!"

Treville glanced at Athos, who nodded once reluctantly. "Someone dared to insult my musketeers?" Louis demanded.

"Not only musketeers, but Spaniards as well," Anne added quietly.

Louis frowned. "Richelieu was just saying that it was time you dismissed your Spanish ladies in waiting," he said. The queen became tense, her eyes narrowing. "Insults such as that would be avoided."

"I would speak to you in private about that later," Anne told him, casting a quick glance over to where Richelieu stood. "I have had a tiring journey. Good afternoon, gentleman."

"Señor," Maria said, nodding at the captain. She smiled once at the musketeers before hurrying to catch up to Anne.

"Fine job," Louis told his musketeers. "I await your report of what happened. If Carti had anything to do with nearly killing the queen, I want to know about it. Come Richelieu."

The king hurried off with Richelieu. "The Cardinal has drawn the line," Treville said quietly. "If the queen loses her ladies in waiting, she loses her allies."

"And that's why Richelieu wanted her gone," Aramis said. "If the queen had been here, Louis never would have accepted such an idea."

"France is in conflict," Treville remarked seriously. "There's no telling who will win in the end."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Wow. That last sentence sounds so dramatic. I'm not sure when I will have the next part ready. Besides moving, I am also working on two other Three Musketeers tales. I'm swamped! Anyways, until next time!**


	5. FallWinter, 1625 Part 1

**A/N: OK, so I here is the next part. I wrote quickly to get it to you guys before I vanished on you. Again, thanks to LadyWallace for the beta work. Oh, and my continued apologies to anyone who can actually speak Spanish. I've used an online translator, and this site has squished the words together on occasion. **

**Anyway, enjoy!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>FallWinter-1625**

Just over a month had passed since the trip to the country. Riding patrol, Aramis spotted Constance and Maria at one of the carts in the market. "Mademoiselle Bonacieux! Señora!" he called out, dismounting. He led his horse over as they turned to face him.

"Hello, Monsieur Aramis," Constance greeted with a smile.

Standing a few steps behind Constance, Maria nodded once. "**Buenos Días** Aramis," she said. She smiled and then turned as Carmen, her duenna, spoke to her.

"What brings you into the common market place?" Aramis asked Constance, seeing as Maria was occupied.

"Soon it will be too cold to roam the streets," Constance told him. She glanced over. "And I wanted to get Maria out of the palace."

It was then that Aramis realized that Maria was dressed completely in black and not in brown as she normally was. The Spanish woman looked like she was in mourning as she leaned over the cart to examine something Carmen was pointing to. Even her gloves were black.

"I'm actually glad we ran into you today, Aramis," Constance admitted softly, getting Aramis' attention. "I'm concerned about Maria. This is the first time she's left the palace since we returned from the country. She speaks to the queen and Carmen constantly in Spanish, but to no one else."

"You don't know why?" Aramis asked.

Constance shook her head. "She was happy for a few days," she answered. "She met with the king the day after we got back, and came back pleased about something. But after that, she stopped talking and now wanders the hallways by herself." Constance paused. "There was a letter from Spain."

Thoughtfully, Aramis nodded. From what Maria had said about her last days in Spain, any news from there couldn't be good. "Could you speak to her?" Constance asked hopefully.

"I can try," Aramis replied, slowly. "There may not be much I can do to help if it was bad news from her family."

"Thank you," Constance said, smiling in relief. "If anyone can get through to her it's you...and Porthos. But he's not here."

As Constance stepped to the side, Aramis handed her the reins of his horse. "How are you today, Maria?" he asked, coming up beside the woman. "It's been too long since I've seen you."

"Well enough," Maria answered, her tone distracted. She shook her head and turned around. **"****Vamos, Carmen."**

"Maria, would you care to walk with me? Carmen can go back with Constance," Aramis suggested. "I'd like to talk to you."

Maria shook her head. "Thank you but no," she answered. She offered a very small smile. "I am in no mood to talk to anyone today, Aramis." Before Aramis could try to reason with her, she was walking towards Constance. "Shall we return now, Señorita Constance?" she asked. "I find I am tired."

Reluctantly, Constance glanced at Aramis. The former priest shrugged helplessly. If Maria didn't want to talk, it would be impossible to make her. Sighing, the blonde lady in waiting handed him the reins back. "Good day, Monsieur," she said, disappointment in her voice.

Aramis watched the pair walk down the street, Carmen remaining a respectable few steps behind them. Shaking his head, the musketeer moved to mount. He looked up quickly as the crack of a gunshot echoed in the street. Shouts of fear rang out as people bolted for cover.

"Aramis!" He heard Maria scream, but his eyes were on the musket being pulled out of sight at the far end of the street. A man leaned into view. Even from a distance, Aramis saw that the man was a Spaniard: black hair, tan skin. The Spaniard spotted Aramis and saluted him before drawing out of sight.

Drawing his sword, Aramis dropped the reins and sprinted forward. He quickly reached the corner, turned in the direction he'd seen the musket...and found no one. He was about to search the street when he heard Maria shout, "Aramis! **Obtenga su auto lo siento de nuevo aquí!** Get back here!"

Hearing a note of panic in the woman's voice, Aramis turned back. He ran back when he saw Constance on the ground and Maria kneeling next to her. The Spanish woman looked up as he reached them. "The bullet grazed her arm," she said, keeping her hands pressed over the wound.

"I'm fine," Constance told them, her voice faint. She shivered. "Maria, I'll be fine."

Carmen held out a strip of cloth. "We need to get her back to the palace so that a physician may see to her," Maria said, winding the cloth around Constance's arm. Her hands were shaking. "Did you catch him?"

"No," Aramis answered. Maria froze for a second and then tied off the bandage. Aramis considered questioning her further but getting Constance help was more important. Finding out what Maria knew would have to wait. "Help me get her up. I'll get her to the palace."

"I mean it," Constance protested, her face white as a sheet. "I-I'm fine."

"Of course you are," Maria answered. "After all, Aramis here has been shot several times and he says there's nothing to it. Doesn't even go to a physician anymore."

Glancing at her, and unable to tell whether she was being serious or not, Aramis lifted Constance and put her in the saddle. "I will send word to D'Artagnan," he promised, jumping up behind the young woman.

"We won't be far behind," Maria promised.

* * *

><p>Leaving Constance in the care of Madame Girel, who looked after all the ladies in waiting, Aramis went to the musketeer headquarters to report what had happened. M. de Treville was very displeased, and left to consult with the king. Another musketeer had been sent to tell D'Artagnan, and when Aramis returned to the palace, he found the young Gascon already there with Athos and Porthos.<p>

Maria made no appearance in the anteroom, the queen did come to check on Constance. The physician declared the young woman would recover; that the damage was not severe. D'Artagnan was allowed a few moments to see her, and came out looking grave.

"What's wrong, D'Artagnan?" Porthos asked once they were sitting in a tavern. "You heard the physician: your lady will be fine."

"Yeah, but Constance said..." D'Artagnan stared down at his wine. "Constance said Senora Molin would have been the one shot. The senora knelt to pick something up and that's when Constance was hit by the bullet."

Athos frowned. "Why would someone want to kill Maria?" Porthos asked. "I mean, besides what she told us when we brought her to Paris. Why, after all this time, is someone taking shots at her?"

"Maybe they just found out where she is," Athos said.

"Constance told me that Maria received a letter from Spain, and that it upset her," Aramis told them. "That might have something to do with it."

**"****Naturalmente, tiene todo que ver con eso," **a voice responded. The four looked up to find a Spaniard, in noble dress, standing next to their table. "You are very astute, Senor. That letter has everything to do with the situation. Perhaps I would be allowed to join you fine Señores?"

"We haven't been introduced, monsieur," Porthos said, suspiciously. Aramis frowned at the Spaniard.

Smiling, the man pulled a chair over and sat down. "I am Juan Montoye," he said. "And you are l**os tres mosqueteros, **yes?" He glanced at D'Atagnan. "And a friend as well."

"What do you know of this business, monsieur?" Athos asked.

"A great deal, actually," Montoye answered. "Might I have a drink? Thank you." He reached over and took Aramis' goblet. "Now, Señores, I was the one who sent the letter to dear Esperanza. You see, she has something that belongs to me, and I really do need it back."

Athos leaned forward. "What would that be?"

Montoye smirked. "That would be between me and dear Esperanza," he answered. "As you seem to know her, perhaps you would carry a message to her. I am not a patient man, and do not have time for her stubborn pride. She will understand that."

"Monsieur, I think you have mistaken us for messengers," Aramis told him. "We are the king's musketeers, and take our orders only from him."

His smile becoming tight, Montoye nodded once. "Very well," he said. "I'm sure she'll have gotten the message that I am here. She was always very clever about these things." He got to his feet. "Thank you for the drink, Senores. I do hope that young lady with Esperanza wasn't harmed too seriously. She should choose her companions more wisely in the future."

D'Artagnan was on his feet in an instant. "What do you know about Constance?" he demanded, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Shall I just say that sometimes, even the best of marksmen miss when the target happens to move."

The Spaniard moved quickly towards the door, with D'Artagnan chasing him. Montoye let out a laugh as he slipped out. The door of the tavern slammed shut in D'Artagnan's face. The Gascon boy threw all his weight against the wood, but it didn't even budge. He slammed his hand against the surface with a cry of rage.

His friends sat down, having risen to take chase. "Well, that was unexpected," Aramis remarked.

"Who do you think he really is?" Porthos asked. "How can he know Maria?"

"We'll just have to ask Maria, won't we?" Athos answered.

* * *

><p>That, however, was easier said than done. Porthos and Aramis each tried to get into the palace to see the woman, but were turned away. Aramis had then penned a short letter, only to have it returned still sealed a few hours later. It was three days later when Athos received a message from M. de Treville.<p>

"Giles returned yesterday," Athos said to his friends as they approached the Musketeers' Headquarters. The sky was dark and overcast, threatening foul weather before the day ended. "I'm assuming I am being summoned to learn what he has to report."

"Ten sous says the Comte de Carti will be dead within a week," Porthos offered.

Walking in front of the big man, Aramis shook his head. D'Artagnan had guard duty that day, and had been unable to join them. "The Comte will have provided some person to take the fall for it," the former priest answered. He stopped abruptly. "Not again!"

"You don't care to put your money on that?" Porthos asked, stepping around him. "What's wrong now?"

On his other side, Athos groaned. "Look over there."

A royal carriage was sitting on front of the Musketeers headquarters. Senor Marquez was standing by it, eyeing the musketeers practicing nearby. "Senor!" Porthos called out. The Spaniard spun around. "What brings you to our part of Paris? Looking to join the king's musketeers?"

"Señors," Marquez greeted, nodding stiffly. "My daughter and Señora Molin were summoned by your Señor de Treville. I was told to return at this time for them. Señor de Treville would not allow me to remain with my daughter!"

There was no mistaking the outrage in the man's voice. "Well, that can't be good," Aramis said, glancing at his companions. "What would Treville want with Maria and Señorita Marquez."

Athos shook his head. "Let's find out."

With Señor Marquez behind them, the musketeers walked through the front gate and up to the doors. Inside, the usual noise of the headquarters was subdued, much as it had been when Maria had first stepped foot through the doorway. This time, everyone was glancing up towards the sound of muffled shouting.

"All right, which one of us gets to rescue Monsieur de Treville from Maria?" Aramis asked in resignation.

"You," Porthos and Athos said in unison.

Startled, Aramis turned towards them. "Why does it have to be me?" he demanded. "Athos, you're supposed to be here. You go."

"I'm sure if I did, Señora Molin would only find some reason to be mad at me, and I would have to face the queen's censure again," Athos answered. "Therefore, the answer is no."

Before the discussion could go any further, the door to Treville's office slammed open. "**Esta es la cosa más ridícula que he oído nunca! Yo no tengo que aguantar esto!" **Señorita Marquez snapped, stomping out. Her voice echoed in the suddenly silent hall.

** "Margarita!"** Señor Marquez exclaimed, brushing past the musketeers. **"Margarita?** **¿Qué ha pasado****?"**

"Señorita, please, if you let me explain," M. de Treville said, hurrying from his office. Maria was behind him, walking very slowly. "Señorita!"

The young Spanish lady stormed down the steps. **"****Yo lo he****tenido con****ustedes,****mosqueteros****!"** she raged. All the musketeers watched her cautiously, waiting to see what she would do. **"****No voy a****tolerar esto****por más tiempo! Padre, me quiero ir! Ahora! ¿Me oyes? "**

Exchanging looks, Aramis and Porthos immediately stepped out her way. All eyes were on the furious young woman. "**¡Todos ellos! Idiotas!"** Señorita Marquez said, glaring at the musketeers present.

"**Por favor, perdona a su,**" Señor Marqeuz said, as his daughter swept towards the door. "She is very angry."

"She is very angry," Maria repeated, reaching the bottom step. Her face was pale, and her voice was low. **"****Creo que todos podemos ver que su querida Margarita está enojado, señor!"**

"Monsieur?" Athos questioned, turning towards their captain who had paused in the middle of the stairs.

"Come, Señora," Señor Marqeuz said. "You will explain this in the carriage."

At his words, Maria stopped walking and faced the man. "**Explicar? Voy a explicar a usted también? Lo he tenido con usted, señor! ** she shouted, her voice shrill. She brought her right fist up and punched the Spaniard. "**No hay más explicaciones! Esto es lo que pienso de usted, señor Márquez!" **

Señor Marquez reeled, clutching his nose. Someone at the far end of the hall applauded and whistled. Porthos felt like doing the same, but Maria was close enough she might decide to take a swing at him. She glared at the men and ran for the door. "Maria!" Aramis exclaimed, moving to go after her.

"**¡Padre! ¿Sabía que la serpiente te pegó?"** Señorita Marquez exclaimed, rushing back.

"Porthos, Aramis, Athos, in my office. Now," Treville ordered, looking very tired. "Señor, if you require a physician, one will be sent for."

Blood was gushing from the Spaniard's nose. "I will be fine, Señor," he said. He turned towards the door. **"****Señora! ¡Vuelve aquí!" **

Glancing once at the door, Porthos obediently followed his friends to the stairs.

* * *

><p>"Athos. Porthos. Aramis," Giles greeted, nodding at each man. He stood by Treville's desk. "It's good to see you again."<p>

"Please, have a seat," M. de Treville invited. He walked around and sat behind his desk. He sighed and shook his head. "As you may have guessed, this has to do with what happened at the Comte de Carti's estate. And Senorita Marquez did not take kindly to the news."

Athos frowned. "The comte had nothing to do with the attacks on the queen, then?" he asked, not sounding very surprised by the news.

Giles cleared his throat. "We couldn't find anything to pin it on him," he answered, getting a nod from Treville."However, all the servants did tell me they all saw one of the Spanish women in the kitchen at the time the soup was being prepared. And the same woman was seen sneaking out of the mansion early in the morning."

Porthos flinched. "Señora Molin was carrying a note for the queen," Aramis said calmly. "We'd already questioned her about it. Didn't she tell you?"

"Señora Molin had nothing to say after I told her of Giles' findings," Treville answered. "As you heard, it was Señorita Marquez who took exception."

"Who did the servants say it was?" Porthos demanded, looking at Giles.

The man shook his head. "All they would say was that 'the foreign woman' was in the kitchen," he explained. "I know Señora Molin is very loyal to the queen. I don't believe it was her."

"Until we have proof, we can't rule her out," Treville said firmly.

"So what now?" Aramis asked.

"I have to give this report to the king," Treville answered, his tone regretful. "Who knows what the Cardinal will do with this against the queen's Spanish ladies in waiting." He shook his head. "That was all. You're dismissed."

"I'm sorry, Porthos, Aramis," Giles said honestly as he walked with them to the door. "I had no choice but to tell him."

Forcing a smile, Aramis held out his hand. "Its not your fault, Giles," he said. "Maria will get herself out of this mess one way or another. She seems to have a certain talent for that."

"Come on," Athos said, his tone short. "We have patrol."

* * *

><p>By late afternoon, the sky had gotten darker and a cold wind blew. The friends met up in front of the musketeers' headquarters. They were surprised to find D'Artagnan and Constance standing outside, waiting for them. The young woman's arm was in a sling, the only sign shed been injured. "What's happened?" Athos asked, dismounting.<p>

"You shouldn't be up," Aramis said to Constance in concern.

"Señora Molin is missing," D'Artagnan answered, glancing at Constance. "She never returned to the castle after her meeting with M. de Treville." The boy grinned suddenly. "Which I hear I missed some entertainment! Did she really punch Señor Marquez?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if she broke his nose," Porthos said proudly.  
>Frowning, Athos noticed that Constance was fidgeting uncomfortable. "What else is there?" he asked.<p>

Biting her lip, Constance hesitated. "One of the queen's necklaces is missing," she admitted. "A sapphire one given to her by the king when they were first married."

"Have you told Treville?" Aramis asked. "Who knows about this?"

"No one knows but the queen and myself," Constance told them. "The queen is afraid Richelieu will use this as more reason to dismiss most of the ladies in waiting. Can you help find Maria before anyone else finds out?"

Porthos shook his head. "Let me get this straight,"he said. "The queen thinks Maria has taken the jewels?"

Constance nodded, looking miserable. "Maria had the most access to the jewels,

"Maria wouldn't steal from the queen!" Porthos objected. He glared at them. "I know she wouldn't do something so low!"

Athos shook his head. "But she has," he said. "And that Juan Montoye has something to do with it. Now, she'll probably try to get to England since she's been exiled from Spain. D'Artagnan, Porthos, I want you to go to the North road and question everyone. Someone had to of seen her."

"Perdón."

At the simple Spanish word, the group turned. Carmen stood a few feet away, her face lined with worry. **"****Por favor, usted tiene que encontrar,"** she said, her tone pleading.

"She says we must find her. I think she's talking about Señora Molin," Aramis said, translating. Porthos scowled at him for using Maria's title. "**Señora ... usted sabe ... ... donde ... María ha ido?** he asked, having to think hard for each word. "I hope she understand me."

The older woman hesitated. **"****Ella ha ido a rezar,"** she said. She put her hands together in imitation of praying. **"****Ella va a estar en una iglesia, orar por la sabiduría y el perdón. Tienes que encontrarla antes de que ella hace algo tonto! Por favor, señores!"**

Aramis frowned. "She thinks Maria will be in a church praying for...forgiveness?" he told the others. "**¿Por qué se busca el perdón?"**

"Why does she want to be forgiven?" D'Artagnan asked. He put his arm around Constance. "Besides putting Constance in danger."

The young woman pushed his arm away, giving him a glare. "That's what I just asked," Aramis said, keeping his eyes on Carmen.

"**Ella va a tener el regalo de su marido para que el hombre,"** Carmen answered, tears in her eyes. **"****Es todo lo que se ha ido. Ella estará sin un centavo. y para dar en este momento...****Ella no debe, ¡Señor!****"**

Pausing, Aramis tried to make sense of her words. "What did she say?" Athos asked impatiently.

Turning, Aramis shook his head. "I think Carmen said Maria will need forgiveness for giving her husband's gift to that man," he answered. "I'm assuming she's referring to Juan Montoye. But it seems to be more than that. She says Maria will have nothing if she gives these gifts up, and it's a bad time to give them up."

The men frowned. "Oh," Constance breathed, understanding dawning. "The queen told me today. It is the anniversary of the death of Maria's husband."

"And she's giving up the jewels he gave her to pay off Montoye," Porthos exclaimed. "See? I told you she wouldn't steal from the queen!"

"We'll see," Athos said. "We don't have much time. Looks like we're going to be in Aramis' territory."

Nodding, Aramis outlined the small churches and cathedrals that were closest to the musketeers headquarters. Carmen pulled on his arm as Constance insisted she could help, since her arm really wasn't bothering her. Aramis sent her with D'Artagnan towards the east. Porthos went west, Athos went north, leaving Aramis with the south.

"**Yo sé dónde va a ir,**" Carmen said before they could split up.

"**¿Dónde, señora?"** Aramis asked. **"****¿Por qué no dicen que antes?"**

"**Usted no pidió,"** Carmen said, a faint smile appearing. **"****María se vaya a su Notre Dame. Se ha querido ver durante mucho tiempo ahora."**

"**Gracias, Señora. Volver al palacio. La vamos a encontrar,"** Aramis assured her. "Carmen says Maria will go to the Notre Dame."

* * *

><p>Rain started to fall as the sun vanished below the horizon. Wet and cold, the group entered a the cathedral. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight. Several people seemed to have taken refuge from the cold, sitting in the pews.<p>

They split up to search. Walking down the aisle, Athos glanced at each person. Down at the front, he finally saw her, kneeling on the cold stone and her hands clenched together. Moving silently, Athos walked over and crouched beside her. "Señora," he said.

"Athos," Maria answered quietly. She sighed and dropped her hands to the small wooden chest in front of her. "How did you find me?"

"Carmen said you would be praying for forgiveness, and that you have wanted to see this place," Athos answered. He leaned over and took her chest. "Do you mind if I look in this?"

Getting off her knees, Maria took a seat on the wooden bench. "If you must."

Athos opened the chest. Inside, a ruby and gold necklace was lovingly displayed on a velvet lining. A matching bracelet and comb were arranged around it. The chest contained nothing else. "My husband gave those to me when we were married," Maria said softly. "The were the only jewels I was allowed to keep when the king seized the Molin estate."

Aramis slipped into the pew from the opposite side. He sat next to Maria. "Have you come to hear my confession?" Maria asked, looking at him.

"As your friend, if you feel you have something to confess, I will listen," Aramis assured her.

Closing the lid, Athos held out the chest out to her. "Where are the queen's sapphires?" he asked bluntly.

Maria looked at him sharply. "I don't have them," she said.

"But you do know where they are?"

"Of course," Maria said. She shivered and got to her feet. "I have an appointment I need to keep."

Grabbing her right wrist, Athos pulled her down. She hissed sharply. "Not until you explain yourself," he told her. "Where are the sapphires?"

"At the jewelers!" Maria snapped, trying in vain to jerk her hand free. She winced in pain and stopped pulling. "Louis asked me to take the sapphires to the jewelers so that a matching bracelet could be made. It is to be a surprise for Anne, and he asked me to deliver the necklace to the jewelers."

D'Artagnan came up. "Athos, the rain is freezing," he said in a low voice. "If we don't leave now, we'll never make it back."

"Tomorrow, we will escort you to the jewelers," Athos told Maria seriously. "If you're telling the truth, you will return the necklace to the queen. Louis can find something else to surprise his queen."

Maria stared at him. "I can't," she said. "I have to take these to-."

"Juan Montoye, yes, we know," Aramis told her. "With the weather getting bad, there's no way you'll make it to your appointment. Come."

"Fine."


	6. FallWinter, 1625 Part 2

At the door of the cathedral, Porthos stepped forward as his two friends walked up with Maria between them. "Maria, have you been crying?" he asked, spotting what neither of his friends had seen: the tracks of tears on the woman's cheeks. He glared at Athos. "These two didn't insult you again, did they?"

Before Aramis could object or defend himself, Maria walked straight to Porthos. "Porthos, I need a hug," she said, her tone small and miserable.

Instantly, Porthos put his arms around her, continuing to glare at his friends. Aramis looked slightly jealous. Adjusting his grip on the woman's chest, Athos just rolled his eyes. Maria definitely had the big man wrapped around her little finger. "Let's go," he said.

Stepping away from Porthos, Maria straightened her shoulders. "**Si**, we should go," she said. Her dark eyes narrowed as she saw Constance. "Constance Bonacieux! **¿Qué piensa usted que está haciendo la cama? ¿No es suficientemente malo que tengo la culpa de que te disparan, y ahora está tratando de matarte?** What are you thinking?"

"She's better," Porthos said with a grin.

Swiftly, Aramis grabbed Maria's arm and steered her outside before she could continue berating Constance. "It would probably be best if you did not yell in a church," he advised. As he spoke, his foot slipped on some ice and Aramis struggled to get his balance.

D'Artagnan, trying to be helpful, grabbed onto Aramis' shoulders. Instead of keeping Aramis upright, the Gascon boy ended up getting pulled to the ground. Still holding onto Maria's arm, Aramis dragged her down with them. The freezing rain picked up then.

"D'Artagnan!" Constance exclaimed. Mindful of her injured shoulder, she tried to help D'Artagnan up. "Are you all right?"

Porthos burst out laughing as Aramis tried to get to his feet on the ice. Even Athos smiled as he watched. Maria just lay there, laughing. "I'm glad you find this funny," Aramis told her.

"If I did not laugh, I would only end up crying," Maria answered. She held her left hand up. "Could someone possibly help me?"

Reaching down, Porthos pulled her up. He made sure she was steady on her feet before he reached down to get Aramis up. Between Constance and Athos, D'Artagnan managed to get to his feet. "We'll never make it to the palace in this mess, Athos," Aramis said, trying to shake some of the water off.

"I know," Athos said reluctantly. "We'll have to take them home with us."

* * *

><p>It took several hours to get to safety. Already wet from falling on the ice, D'Artagnan, Aramis, and Maria were completely soaked. Planchet was alarmed when the entire group entered. "But-but, where will they stay, Masters?" the lackey asked.<p>

"Aramis will be bunking with Porthos, and D'Artagnan will stay in my room," Athos answered shortly, throwing off his cloak. "We need hot food, wine, and hot water."

Nodding vigorously, Planchet hurried away, managing to knock over pans and dishes as he did. Aramis took off his cloak and hung it next to the fire. He took Maria's wet cloak and hung it next to his. "I'll show you where you can get out of those wet clothes," he said to the woman.

Shivering violently, Maria nodded and followed him out of the main room. Constance, who'd managed to stay dry, stood close to the fire. Athos poured himself some wine as D'Artagnan went to change into dry clothes. Silence filled the room for several moments.

"So, Maria didn't have the queen's sapphires, did she," Porthos said, nodding at the chest Athos had carried.

"She says she took them to the jewelers at the request of Louis, so that a matching bracelet could be crafted," Athos answered. He took a seat at the table. "Tomorrow, we will see if she's telling the truth or not. We'll take her to the jewelers to retrieve the sapphires."

"And if she lied?" Constance asked.

Athos barely glanced at her. "We make her tell the truth."

"Athos, Maria has never lied to us," Porthos objected.

"That doesn't mean she wouldn't start."

Porthos decided not to dignify that with a response and an uncomfortable silence filled the room. Then, Planchet came creeping back in. "Pardon me, sir, but the water is hot," the young valet said uneasily.

"Well, take it to Aramis' room for Señora Molin," Athos ordered.

"A woman's chambers, sir?" Planchet said uncomfortably. "It wouldn't be proper..."

"Just knock on the door and leave it outside," Constance told him, taking pity on him. "Once you're gone, she'll get it herself."

Still looking uncomfortable with the arrangement, Planchet vanished again. He returned several minutes later carrying Maria's wet dress. Blushing, he arranged the dress in front of the fire and hurried off as Porthos began to glare. "Don't worry, Porthos," Aramis said as he walked in, dressed in dry clothing. "Maria handed it out to him. There'll be no cause to fight Planchet over Maria's honor."

Porthos scowled, but said nothing. Constance glanced around, just as uncomfortable about being there as Planchet was about it. It looked to be a long evening.

* * *

><p>Sometime past midnight, after Constance had retired and D'Artagnan was dozing in front of the fire, a door squeaked as it opened. A few moments later, Maria, wrapped in a blanket walked into sight. "May I join you?" she asked, sounding tired. She smiled. "I'm afraid I don't have any wine with me this time."<p>

"Not to worry, we have the wine this time," Porthos said. "Do you still want to see what it's like to get drunk?"

"Yes, but Anne still wouldn't approve," Maria responded as she took a seat. She hesitated. "Aramis, I think I broke something in my hand when I hit Señor Marquez."

"Let me see," Aramis said. Maria held out her right hand, careful to keep the blanket wrapped around the rest of her body. Aramis ran his fingers over the back of her hand and she flinched. "Let me guess. It didn't hurt when you were cold, but it did after you washed in the hot water."

"Yes," Maria answered, her tone unusually meek. She almost sounded like a penitent child.

Standing up, Aramis went and got their medical supplies. "You missed an exciting game of cards," Porthos said, handing the woman a tankard with wine. "Turns out D'Artagnan's Constance has a talent for it. She would have won everything we own if we'd been playing for real money."

Maria chuckled. "She ought to be good," she said, as Aramis returned with some bandages, "I spent an entire week teaching her."

"You are a woman of many talents, Esperanza," Athos remarked.

Her eyes widening, Maria looked over at him. "Why did you call me that?" she demanded, her voice rising. Aramis had to hold her arm down to keep it still as he bandaged her injured hand. "No one calls me that!"

D'Artagnan mumbled something and shifted in his chair. "Wrong. One person calls you that. Juan Montoye referred to you as Esperanza," Athos answered, keeping his voice low. There was no point in waking D'Artagnan. "What does he want from you?"

"**Esa serpiente,**" Maria spat. "He wants the papers."

"Why don't you leave off the name calling and tell us who he is," Aramis suggested, keeping his voice low.

Sighing, Maria nodded. "Very well," she said. "He is my...my.. oh, how do you say it? **C****uñado. **The brother of my husband."

"Your brother-in-law?" Porthos said in surprise. "And he took a shot at you?"

"Brother-in-law, yes that is it," Maria responded. "He would be the Marqués de Molin if the king hadn't stripped the title from the family. He thinks I have the papers and wants them. The shot before was just a warning not to ignore him. The next time, I die."

"That wouldn't be very smart," Athos said. He finished his wine and reached for the bottle. "That wouldn't get him the papers."

"True, but he thinks that if I'm the only one with the papers, if I'm dead, no one will have the papers," Maria answered. She wiggled her fingers as Aramis tied off the bandage. "Thank you, Aramis. In any event, I don't have the papers, so I thought if I gave him what I could he would leave me be."

Athos snorted. "You are very naive, Senora," he said. "Once you give a man like Montoye money, he'll never stop trying to get more out of you."

"What else was I supposed to do?" Maria demanded. This time, her voice snapped D'Artagnan awake. The Gascon lifted his head and blinked at them. "I tried ignoring him and Constance was shot!"

"You could have told us in the first place."

Astonished, everyone in the room looked at him. Athos drained his wine as he stood up. He walked out of the room. "I'm still dreaming, aren't I?" D'Artagnan asked.

"No," Porthos said, shaking his head.

"I think that's the nicest thing he's ever said to me," Maria stated. She looked down at her tankard of wine. "And I haven't had anything to drink, so I know he must have said it."

For the first time, D'Artagnan looked over and saw Maria wrapped in the blanket. He blinked and began to blush. "Don't look so embarrassed, boy," Porthos told him. "After all, Aramis has seen her in much less."

"Porthos!" Maria objected.

Aramis smirked and turned to Porthos. "You owe me twenty louis," he said, holding out his hand. "You said it would take another six months before Athos liked Maria."

Frowning, Maria looked at them. "You dare involve me in your bets?" she demanded.

"Aramis started it," Porthos said, pointing a finger at his friend.

"Yeah, thanks," Aramis said as Maria turned her glare full on him.

Sighing, Maria lifted her tankard. "Honestly, I was expecting it to take another year," she said. "I am impressed. I'm better than I thought. One of you better get D'Artagnan to his bed before he falls over and hits his head. I don't want Constance blaming me for another injury."

Chuckling, Porthos went over and hauled a yawning D'Artagnan up. "You going to bed now, Maria?" Aramis asked.

Porthos stopped smiling, eyeing his friend. "No, I want to enjoy the fire for awhile," Maria answered. She caught the look on Porthos' face and blushed as she guessed what he thought Aramis was hinting at. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Porthos! There was no hidden meaning in his question!"

"There could be," Porthos said defensively. "You don't know him like I do."

D'Artagnan looked between them, his sleepy brain only half catching the conversation. "Señora Molin is sleeping with Aramis?"

"No!" Maria exclaimed. "You see what you two have started? Go and leave me to enjoy my wine in peace."

Purposely waiting until Aramis went ahead of him, Porthos half carried D'Artagnan to Athos' room. Athos wasn't asleep and took charge of the boy. "What was that about?" he asked, referring to the raised voices. "Were you trying to wake the neighborhood?"

"Ask D'Artagnan in the morning," Porthos said with a grin. "I'm sure he'd love to tell the tale."

* * *

><p>Long after Porthos had started snoring, Aramis still laid awake. Finally,he got up and went out. Maria was fast asleep in the chair. Shaking his head, Aramis carefully lifted her up and carried her to his room. As he laid her on the bed, she shifted and murmured, "Ramón?"<p>

"Shh, good night, Maria," Aramis whispered. Sighing, Maria turned over and pulled the blanket closer. Shaking his head, Aramis left the room, careful to close the door after himself.

* * *

><p>Athos was the first to rise the next morning. He went out to check the state of the roads and found them to be covered with ice. Shaking his head, he returned to the warmth of the fire. Hopefully, after a few hours, the temperature would rise enough for the ice to melt and he could get the ladies back where they belonged.<p>

Soon after, Planchet was rattling pots and dishes in the kitchen, desperately searching for something fit 'to feed the ladies'. As Athos was snapping at the lackey to quiet down, Aramis came out. "How is it out there?" the former priest asked, nodding towards the door.

"In a few hours it may clear up enough to leave," Athos answered. "What were you and Porthos talking about last night that upset our guest?"  
>He was surprised to see Aramis blush. "Nothing," Aramis said, reaching for his bible.<p>

Not believing him, Athos decided to wait until D'Artagnan came out as Porthos had suggested the previous evening. When the Gascon boy did make his appearance, Athos frowned when he saw D'Artagnan glance at Aramis and then look away quickly, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Someone better tell me what happened last night," Athos said, impatiently.

"D'Artagnan was concerned about the clothes I was wearing last night in your company, or my lack thereof," Maria responded, gliding in, still with her blanket wrapped around her. Her hair was a tangled mess. "And he now thinks I'm sleeping with Aramis. **Los hombres y su manera de pensar!"**

She plucked her dress from where it had been hanging in front of the fireplace. Turning, she walked back out, leaving Aramis and D'Artagnan blushing. ** "**Where's the wine?" Athos asked, searching the nearest cupboard. "I can't leave any of you alone with her, can I?"

"Blame the boy," Aramis said, closing his bible. It was not the time for spiritual reading with such a subject going on. "All I asked was whether she was going to bed or not, and D'Artagnan automatically assumes that means that Maria is...my mistress. It was a misunderstanding."

Shaking his head, Athos still felt the need for a drink. And when Constance joined the group for breakfast, it started all over again when she noticed the underlying tension between D'Artagnan and everyone else. "What happened?"

"**Oh, esto es simplemente maravilloso!**" Maria exclaimed, throwing her spoon down. "If we are going to continue to talk about last night, can I leave now?"

Porthos raised an eyebrow. "You didn't seem bothered before," Aramis pointed out.

"No. We still have to escort you to the jewelers first," Athos said firmly. He definitely did not want to go through that conversation again. "And then, we'll see."

Maria crossed her arms. "I have to meet Juan before he decides I'm still ignoring him."

"Juan? Who's Juan?" Constance asked, confused. "Why are you ignoring him?"

"Juan shot you," Maria told her sharply.

"You know who shot me?"

Aramis cleared his throat. "I think we've gotten off topic," he said. Maria narrowed her eyes in warning. "Not that topic! About you leaving! Maria, if you don't get those sapphires back to the queen, Richelieu is going to find out, and then there's going to be trouble."

Sighing, Maria nodded. "**Muy bien. Usted gana,**" she said reluctantly. "I will just let Juan shoot me this time. Will that make you happy?"

"You're not going to get shot," Athos told her. "Mademoiselle Bonacieux, Planchet will return you to the palace. Now, Señora, where will Porthos and Aramis find Montoye?"

* * *

><p>Surprisingly, the inn Maria directed them to was in the better side of Paris. Porthos held onto the chest as Aramis asked for the room number of Juan Montoye. The innkeeper looked at them suspiciously before telling them, "The <em>vizconde<em> is in room 201."

"Vizconde?" Porthos repeated.

"Same rank as a vicomte," Aramis explained, turning around. "Well, lets go reintroduce ourselves to Maria's relatives."

Upstairs, Aramis knocked on the door of 201. After several moments, the door swung open. A Spaniard, though not Montoye, looked out at them. "**¿Sí? ¿Puedo ayudar a los caballeros**?" he asked, raising an inquiring eyebrow. He sighed when he got no immediate response. "**Los franceses!**Might I be of assistance to you, **Señores**?"

"We're looking for Vizconde Montoye," Aramis informed him. "Will you inform him that Señora Molin sent us?"

The man looked them over disdainfully. "The vizconde is not here," he said with dignity. "And I doubt one such as the Marquesa de Molin would send you two as her envoys."

"Where is Montoye?" Aramis asked.

The man -Porthos was fairly certain he was a valet or lackey of some kind- laughed. "He is out visiting the marquesa," he answered. "So, you see, you can't have come from her."

"We've got to catch up to Athos," Aramis said to Porthos, turning from the door. He paused. "Oh, great."

Frowning, Porthos turned as well. Three Spanish men with swords stood only a few feet away. "One thing you French should learn, is to watch your back," the valet said. "**Acaba con ellos."**

"And one thing you Spaniards should learn is that you shouldn't insult French musketeers," Aramis answered, drawing his sword.

The three Spaniards charged. Porthos tossed the chest at one of them. The man instinctively caught it. Porthos slammed his fist into the man's face and managed to grab the chest before it hit the floor when the Spaniard fell. "Maria would kill me if I broke this," Porthos muttered.

Parrying attacks from the other two men, Aramis reached for his dagger. He flung it at the closest one. Outraged shouts drifted up from the stairs as the man crumbled to the ground with the dagger in his chest. The third man hesitated and then ran. Shocked, the Spanish valet stared at the scene.

"Let's go," Aramis said, kneeling down. He pulled his dagger free and wiped the blood from it.

* * *

><p>On the other side of Paris, the elderly jeweler beamed as soon as he saw Maria step into his shop. "Señora!" he exclaimed, rushing around the counter. He grasped Maria's hands and she didn't even flinch as he grasped her injured hand. "I was concerned when you did not come yesterday as you said you would. It is ready!"<p>

Sending a pointed look at Athos, Maria smiled. "I am glad, Señor," she said. "The king will be glad as well."

"If you will wait here, I will remove it from the safe," the man said, with a slight bow. "It is good to see you have an escort this time, Señora. Such valuables as these must not be unguarded ever again."

Swiftly, the jeweler turned and hurried away, calling for his assistants. "There, you see?" Maria said, facing Athos. "I did not lie."

"Why didn't you explain to Treville about carrying a note for the queen?" Athos asked.

Maria shook her head. "I tried!" she answered. "I told Margarita to help, but she said she knows nothing about it. It is her word against mine. And since I had the note, I will take the blame for it."

All of the sudden, D'Artagnan let out a shout and grabbed Athos' and Maria's arms. He pulled them back. A split second later, the glass window shattered, and the crack of a gunshot sounded. "Get down, and stay down!" Athos snapped at Maria, shoving her to the floor as D'Artagnan released them. "D'Artagnan, where is he?"

"Just across the street," D'Artagnan answered.

Nodding, Athos unsheathed his sword and headed for the door. D'Artagnan was right on his heels. Outside the store, the few people out walking in the cold and ice were running for shelter.

"You're really starting to aggravate me," Montoye called out, tossing his musket into the street. "No wonder you get on with Esperanza so well."

"Sorry. Who?" Athos answered. "I'm afraid I don't know an Esperanza."

Montoye laughed. "Oh, yes. She grants a few favored ones to call her Maria, doesn't she?" he responded. "Now, my quarrel isn't with you."

"You're not going to go anywhere near her," D'Artagnan shouted.

The Spaniard shook his head. "The thing about big cities like Paris is that there are always some willing to fight for a price," he commented. "And I happen to know the right price."

That was the only warning the two musketeers got before ten men, dirty and scruffy, charged from all sides. The slippery ground made it both easier and harder on the men. It was harder to keep balance, but it was easier to knock their opponents to the ground.

Cutting down a third man, Athos searched for Montoye, only to find the man gone. Half turning, the musketeer looked through the broken window and scowled. Maria was not there.

"D'Artagnan, I have to find Maria," Athos called out.

"I'll handle these," D'Artagnan responded.

Knowing the boy could take care of the rest, Athos started down the street in the direction of the palace. He'd only gone a few steps when he heard a scream. "I knew it," he muttered. Moving as fast as he dared, Athos rushed around the corner.

A velvet case was on the ground. Montoye had his hands around Maria's neck, pinning her to the side of a building. "**¿Dónde están los papeles, Esperanza? ¿Dónde están?"** he shouted at her. "Tell me where they are!"

"She doesn't have them," Athos said.

Releasing Maria, Montoye turned. "Then, you know where they are?" he asked as Maria slid to the ground, coughing and gasping for breath.

"I know who took them in the first place, and she is dead," Athos answered. "You have insulted the musketeers, shot a lady, and nearly killed a friend of mine. For that, monsieur, you must pay. En garde!"

Sneering, Montoye strode forward, drawing his sword. Steel clashed against steel. However skilled he may have been with a musket, Montoye did not have even half the talent with a blade. Athos could easily have toyed with the man, but instead, he ran the man through within minutes.

"Are you all right?" Athos asked, turning to Maria. She nodded, leaning her head against the stone wall. "Did you not hear me tell you to stay in the shop?"

"You also said that I had to return the sapphires as soon as possible," Maria answered, her voice hoarse. She reached over and picked up the case. "Everyone was distracted and I thought I could get away without being seen."

Shaking his head, Athos went to help her up. "This isn't over, Esperanza," Montoye gasped out, still clinging to life. The woman looked at him. "You destroyed my family, and I thought you'd fallen as well. Now, you will be crushed and there will be no escape for you."

"What do you mean?" Maria demanded. "Juan, what have you done?"

"Oh...you'll...see," Montoye said, laughing. His chest stilled and he was dead.

"Athos! Maria!" Aramis, Porthos, and D'Artagnan came running and sliding up. "Are you all right?"

"We're fine," Athos answered.

* * *

><p>The group was escorted straight into the throne room. The musketeers were unnerved to find M. de Treville there as well. Queen Anne looked anxious, and the king was concerned as to why. Richelieu regarded the group, his demeanor satisfied.<p>

"Your Majesties," Athos said, keeping his composure. His gaze stayed on the king and queen. "I regret to inform you that there was an attempt made on the jewels Your Majesty, the king, sent us to retrieve. We defeated the man, and now present the jewels to you."

Taking her cue, Maria walked forward with the velvet case. She sent a sunny smile at Richelieu, who looked stunned, as she held the case out to Louis. "I know you meant this as a surprise, so please accept my humblest apologies. The musketeers thought it would be best if you were informed of the attack and so the jewels must be brought forth."

Surprised, the queen turned towards her husband. "Your Majesty?" she questioned.

Accepting the case from Maria, Louis cleared his throat nervously. "For you, Anne," he said, opening the case. "A full set."

"Oh," Anne breathed, gazing at the sparkling sapphires. "Your Majesty, I don't know what to say."

Richelieu looked very unhappy. "You were attacked?" Louis asked, turning back to his musketeers.

"The man is dead now, Your Majesty," Athos told him.

"Well, all's well that end's well," Louis declared. "Richelieu, I want these men rewarded for their actions."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Richelieu said with a slight bow. "I am interested to hear the whole story. Senora Molin, you were not seen leaving the palace this morning."

"No, I was not," Maria answered, facing him. "I was caught off guard by the ice, and had to stay in the city overnight."

"Perhaps in the company of the musketeers?"

The entire court went silent to hear the rest of the exchange. Obviously, most of them had thought Maria was involved with one or more of the musketeers. "In the company of Constance Bonacieux," Maria answered. "We knew the queen would be concerned by our failure to return last night, so she returned before me."

"Is this true, Constance?" Anne asked, looking over at her lady in waiting.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Constance answered. "Every word of what she's said is true."

"Well, let's talk no more about it," Louis said, waving his hand dismissively. "You're all dismissed. Treville, don't forget my orders. What's the next order of business?"

Richelieu turned his back on the musketeers as he spoke to the king. "You four may as well be the first to know," Treville said as he approached the group. "In two weeks time, we leave for the Northern border of France. Buckingham's troops have been seen in the area."

Frowning as she heard, Maria joined the musketeers. "Sir?" Aramis asked.

"We are now at war, and you're escorting the king to the front lines."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: OK. My sister thinks this is an evil cliff hanger, but I didn't. And, this really is the last thing I'll be posting before I leave. I hope you all have enjoyed it so far. I'll try not to keep you hanging too long!** _


	7. Winter, 1626

_**A/N: Wow. I started this a year and a half ago, and I have finally finished this chapter. Its not my best, but I'm so happy to have finished it. :)**_

_**It is unbetated, so all mistakes are mine alone.**_

_**And, oh, look! I've been playing with the Cover/Image thingy.**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Winter-1626<strong>_

The battlefield was muddy and cold. Overhead, Buckingham's airships rained cannonballs down on the French soldiers. Ignoring the explosions going on around him, Porthos ran for the closest trench. A cannonball landed in the mud not more than a yard away, catching the large man's attention. Reacting immediately, Porthos flung himself into the trench.

The ball exploded, sending mud and dirt into the trench. Shaking his head, Porthos got to his feet and crouched by the wall of the trench. "Cutting it a little close, weren't you, Porthos?" Aramis queried, glancing over. He, like everyone else, was covered with mud. Only his gold cross distinguished him from the others. "How is it out on the field?"  
>"What do you think? We're getting slaughtered out there!" Porthos responded.<p>

"We've got to figure out a way to take those ships down," Aramis said, glancing up at the cloudy sky. "None of our artillery can hit the damn things!"

Porthos started to grin, and Aramis eyed him suspiciously. "I wasn't just out there getting shot at," the large man said, with a hint of pride in his voice. "Buckingham's setting up camp nearby. I guess he doesn't want to waste time in having his ships go back and forth for supplies. Near as I can tell, the ships set down once a day."

Amazed, Aramis stared at him. "How'd you find that out?"

"I went looking," Porthos said smugly. He clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder, nearly sending Aramis into the mud. "I'm going to find Treville and let him know."

"Athos went that way too," Aramis told him. "You know D'Artagnan was assigned near Treville. Athos wanted to make sure the boy was all right."

Chuckling, Porthos moved to straighten up. His eyes widened as he took in four airships headed directly towards where he knew his two friends, and his captain to be. "Aramis!" he said.

Turning, Aramis was in time to see the four ships bombard the ground with fire and cannonballs. The two friends exchanged quick looks and then they both pulled themselves from the mud. They wove their way through other soldiers, guards, and musketeers. Within moments, they had to fight against the soldiers fleeing the flames. Explosions and screams of pain filled the air around them.

Bringing his arm up to block the smoke, Porthos tripped on a musket that Aramis had so gracefully leapt over. Unable to get his balance, Porthos landed on his face. He picked himself up and turned to snap at the owner of the musket. However, when he saw that the pain lined and exhausted face looking back at him was D'Artagnan's, all annoyance fled.

"D'Artagnan!" Porthos exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. His voice halted Aramis, who'd continued on. Kneeling by his young friend, Porthos tried to find the injury on the boy. "D'Artagnan, are you all right? Where have you been injured?"

"I'm fine," D'Artagnan answered, even though he grimaced in pain as he moved.

"I never took you for a liar, boy," Porthos told him. "Now, tell me where you're hurt."  
>After a moment, D'Artagnan gestured to his right side. "Its not serious," he insisted as Aramis moved to take a better look.<p>

"Where's Athos?" Aramis asked, trying in vain to look at D'Artagnan's wound through the mud.

"He's the one who got me here," D'Artagnan answered. He looked between them with wide eyes. "But he went back."

Aramis and Porthos looked at each other, and Porthos rose to his feet. "I'll go find him," he said. "You stay with D'Artagnan."

Overhead, an airship much larger than any of Buckingham's came out of the clouds. Its cannons fired on the four ships, sending them fleeing from surprise. "Richelieu?" Aramis said in surprise. "He's finally decided to help us out? The war must be going badly then."

Slowly, the four smaller ships came around to take on the one sent from Richelieu. "If he keeps the field clear, fine," Porthos said, losing interest in the battle. "I'm going after Athos. The fool probably got himself killed."

"Believe that, and you're the fool."

At their friend's voice, Porthos and Aramis turned. D'Artagnan's face brightened. "Athos!" the boy exclaimed, trying to get to his feet. "Are you all right?"

Athos was walking towards them, supporting a mud covered man. "Let's get out of this mud," he said, ignoring the question. He cast a swift glance over D'Artagnan. "Richelieu's ship ought to keep Buckingham's ships attention off the field for now."

"I still foresee another night without a campfire to warm us," Porthos sighed. He stepped over to help Athos with the wounded man. Up close, he thought he recognized the man. "Monsieur Treville!"

"He was caught in the last barrage, same as D'Artagnan and myself," Athos said. "We need to get him to a physician."

* * *

><p>His waist encased in a bandage, D'Artagnan sat with Aramis and Porthos around a small lantern, the only light allowed. The tent for the wounded was overflowing with men from the latest skirmish, and as D'Artagnan could still walk, the physician had sent him on his way.<p>

All three looked up as Athos joined them. "The physician says Treville was not seriously injured," Athos reported. "But he won't be joining us on the field for several weeks."

"What happened exactly?" Aramis asked.

Taking a seat next to D'Artagnan, Athos scanned the boy quickly to assure himself that the boy had been looked after. "The same as any other time," he said. "Those damned ships came overhead and took out the entire section. We're losing our men fast, and hardly touching the English!"

"Tell us something we don't know," Porthos told him.

"Master D'Artagnan," Planchet said, his teeth chattering. "One of the Cardinal's guards delivered this letter for you."

Eagerly, D'Artagnan accepted the white paper. "It must be from Constance," he said, turning it over in his hand. Remarkably, the seal was intact. "I wonder how she convinced the guard to deliver it to a musketeer?" the Gascon commented, breaking the seal. He leaned closer to the lantern to see better.

"I hope Richelieu has more ships with him than that one," Aramis said, glancing over to where the immense ship, slightly scarred from the battle earlier, sat next to the camp. "He's had plenty of time to build more than one."

"That would mean we'd be beholden to Richelieu for putting an end to this," Porthos responded. "Is that really something we want?"

"If it would mean kicking Buckingham out of France, then yes," Athos said.

A strangled sound from D'Artagnan caught their attention, interrupting their conversation. "Bad news?" Athos asked.

Slowly, D'Artagnan looked up. His eyes were wide as he glanced between Aramis and Porthos. "Yes," he answered. "It's...I don't know how to tell you."

"Then, read it to us from your letter," Aramis suggested calmly. "It can't be all that bad. After all, the cardinal is here. He can't be making trouble for the queen while he's concerned with this war."

D'Artagnan swallowed hard and turned his eyes back to his letter. He cleared his throat and read:

"'D'Artagnan, you must share this letter with your three friends as soon as you finish reading. It is the queen's express command. We would write to them, and send it with all haste, if it would not draw unwanted attention. However, my writing to you is harmless, and thus it may take days for this to reach you.

Porthos smirked. "Leave it to a woman to bog an urgent message down with details," he said. "What's the emergency this time?"

"'Marquessa de Molin, Maria, has vanished.'"

Aramis and Porthos straightened up sharply. "What?" Aramis snapped.

Clearing his throat, D'Artagnan continued, "All of us retired as usual that night. When Queen Anne sent me to get the marquessa the next morning, when she didn't appear in the queen's chambers, I couldn't find Maria anywhere in the palace. No one saw her leave. I've asked every guard and servant.

"'I did manage to learn one thing from a maid who'd been in the wing. She heard the sound of a scuffle, but paid it no heed until questioned. D'Artagnan, the queen is very anxious that someone has abducted Maria. Please. You must come to Paris as soon as you are able.'"

"Richelieu," Porthos growled. "It has to be Richelieu's work! What's he done with her?"

"As she is the queen's lady in waiting, hasn't the queen done anything?" Athos asked.

Quickly, D'Artagnan searched the handwriting. "'Her Majesty has repeatedly demanded Maria be returned to the palace, but the Cardinal insists that he has had nothing to do with the maquessa's disappearance,'" he read aloud. "'I don't know what game he is playing this time.'"

"He found out about Maria's past," Aramis said quietly. He shook his head. "How? What proof did he get?"

"Since when has the cardinal needed proof?" Porthos asked. "Someone squealed on Maria, and he's locked her away, or worse, to keep her quiet because he thinks she's a threat."

Athos stood and walked to the edge of their small camp. "Not someone. Juan Montoye," he said over his shoulder. "He promised he was going to make Maria suffer. He told the cardinal."

"So, what are we going to do?" D'Artagnan asked. He gestured with his letter. "The queen desires you to find Senora Molin and rescue her."

The other three looked at each other. "Perhaps if we bring the matter up with the king," Porthos suggested. "He's always been fond of Maria since she was the queen's favorite."

"Richelieu is sure to have already told the king that he's arrested a traitor and has locked said traitor in the Bastille," Aramis answered sharply. "We may have to get the information of where Maria is from one of the cardinal's guards, and then, once we've rescued her, send her out of France."

"She's always be on the run," Porthos objected. "There has to be some other way."

"We're in the middle of a war, Porthos!" Aramis told him. "We don't have many options as it is."

D'Artagnan looked up at Athos. "What do you think, Athos?"

The other two also turned towards Athos. The man turned around, a smile on his face. "I think we're going to find Maria," he said. "And we're going to get leave from Richelieu himself to do it."

"We are?" Aramis said doubtfully. "Exactly how are we going to do that?"

Athos smiled.

* * *

><p>Another day of fighting passed. When the sun vanished beneath the horizon, that's when the real work for the <em>Inséparables<em> began. Under the cover of the dark night, the four friends crept towards the English camp. They reached the edge of the camp and split off without a word.

Porthos and Aramis went left, locating the English guards that were posted. Porthos crouched behind a tree and, when the first guard came close enough, took the man out without a sound. Aramis kept going, blending into the shadows with the ease he'd always had.

D'Artagnan and Athos, who'd gone right, were taking out the guards on their sides. "We have five minutes now," Athos said as the last guard fell to the ground. "You know what to do?"

Grinning in response, D'Artagnan nodded once and slipped further into the camp. He'd begged to be allowed to help with the mission. Athos had, at first, been reluctant as the boy still experienced pain from his wound. But D'Artagnan had pointed out that he was well enough to fight on the field, and in the end the others had let him come along.

Keeping his eye on his young friend, Athos stayed in the shadows. On the other side of the camp, Porthos was watching Aramis in much the same way. Too many people in the camp would only complicate things. It was up to D'Artagnan and Aramis to pull this mission off.

They had only been at their work for a few minutes, when a trumpet sounded in the middle of the camp. The English came rushing from their tents and lanterns became lit. Athos cursed as he saw D'Artagnan jump behind a tent to avoid getting caught. The English soldiers rushed to their posts on the airships.

Swiftly, Athos adjusted the mission plan and headed into the camp. With everyone running around, he was able to blend in. So far, no one seemed to notice that the gaurds hadn't appeared from their posts on the edge of the camp. Athos joined D'Artagnan behind the tent.

"What are we going to do now?" the Gascon boy asked in a whisper. "I can't sabotage a ship if its not on the ground." He shook his head. "I'm never going to get used to saying that."

"How many did you get to?" Athos asked.

"Just those two," D'Artagnan answered, gesturing to the two closest ships that were well on their way to lifting off the ground. "Its not going to affect Buckingham's arsenal much."

"Well, if Aramis got to a couple, it should be enough," Athos said. "Let's find him and then get out of here."

D'Artagnan grimaced. "Let me guess. We're not going to be able walk out of here like we planned."

"There's no sense in letting Buckingham have all the ships," Athos answered. He crept carefully through the camp to find Porthos and Aramis. D'Artagnan stayed right behind him. They found their two friends alongside a ship at the farthest end of the camp.

Porthos nodded towards the ships in the air. "Wish there was a way to send a warning back to camp," he said. "There's nothing worse than having a ship bombard you in the middle of the night."

"Let's see if we can get there first then," Athos said, gesturing at the ship. "And see if we can't clear the air a little."

"You're joking, right?" Porthos asked.

Without answering, Athos dodged away from their cover towards the ship. Aramis was right behind him, followed closely by D'Artagnan. Sighing, Porthos bolted for the ship, trying to keep from getting noticed. "Here," Aramis called out, tossing a hatchet over. "Cut us loose!"

Nodding, Porthos focused on his new task. He'd cut the first five ropes anchoring the ship to the ground when he was spotted. Aramis and D'Artagnan were already ready for the Englishmen who had realized that their airship was being hijacked and had come to take it back.

"Get on board!" Porthos shouted, reaching the last tether. The ship was already straining to get off the ground. Trusting his friends to have heard his warning and react, Porthos easily hacked through the rope, making sure to keep a tight grip on it. The ship rose from the ground, lifting Porthos with it.

Dropping the hatchet, Porthos pulled himself up, hand over hand to the railing. Aramis was there to help drag him over the side onto the deck of the ship. "Now, was that so hard?" the former priest asked.

"They see us!" D'Artagnan warned from the opposite side of the ship. "They're getting ready to fire on us!"

At the wheel, Athos did nothing. The ship closest to them, was coming around to chase after them. The musketeers all saw the crewmen on the other ship lighting their cannons. "This isn't going to be pretty," Porthos remarked.

A split second later, the cannons exploded. The ship bucked, and began to fall towards the ground as fire spread. Panicked cries rose from the camp below. A second ship glided through the air to take up where its sister ship had failed, only for the same thing to happen to it as well.

"Let's get out of here," Aramis said. "Before the ones we didn't sabotage get to us."  
>Seeing what had happened to the first two ships seemed to have discouraged the other ships from pursuing, and the Musketeers left the camp behind them.<p>

"Do you think you can land this thing without a problem?" D'Artagnan asked, looking over his shoulder to where Athos was at the wheel.

"No," Athos responded, turning the airship towards their camp. "Hold on."

Swiftly, D'Artagnan tightened his grip on the ship railing. "Maybe we should have brought someone along who knows how to fly these things," he remarked to Porthos, who'd come up beside him. "Then, we wouldn't have to worry about the landing."

"Yeah," Porthos said. "Only I don't think the English would be very helpful. And Richelieu probably wouldn't lend one of his men to us."

D'Artagnan grinned and nodded in agreement. Shouts from their camp reached their ears. "I hope they don't try to shoot us down," Aramis called over from the other side of the ship. "The way the night's been going, Richelieu will have brought a way to take down airships."

Without responding, Athos aimed the ship towards the field Richelieu's airship was resting. Moments later, the airship hit the ground. The four occupants were jolted as wood cracked and snapped. After the moments of silence that followed, Aramis was the first to pick himself up.

"Is everyone still alive?" he asked.

"Alive but bruised," Porthos responded, dragging himself up. "Athos? D'Artagnan?"

"I'm still here," D'Artagnan said, shoving a piece of he railing off himself. "I think I'm with Planchet: I hate air travel."

"Surrender your vessel!" came a shout from the ground.

Athos, using the battered wheel as a support, stood up. "D'Anzy," he called out, having recognized the voice. "Send someone to inform the Cardinal, the king, and M. de Treville, that we have secured another airship for them."

* * *

><p>The sun was just coming up over the horizon. Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and D'Artagnan were kneeling before the king. "Well done," Louis said. He glanced over to where Richelieu's men had already begun work on restoring the airship the group had stolen. "Richelieu, a purse of gold for each. And a week of leave."<p>

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Athos said.

The cardinal nodded once, eyeing the four suspiciously. "I am amazed at this sudden industriousness," he commented. M de Treville, standing next to the king in spite of his wound, was also eyeing his four best men thoughtfully.

"We worked out the details shortly after you arrived, Your Eminence," Aramis informed him.

"If you're returning to Paris, I would ask that you carry a letter for me," Louis said.

"Of course, your Majesty," D'Artagnan answered.

Richelieu raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I see," he said. "Did you receive bad news from Paris that you desire leave?"

Porthos tensed, glancing swiftly at the others. "Bad news?" Louis repeated in concern. "Oh, stand up already."

"Not at all, Your Majesty," Aramis responded as he rose. "Athos, Porthos, and I have had no letter from Paris."

After staring at the four musketeers for a long moment, Richelieu turned his back on them. "Your Majesty, we should discuss strategy," he said. "This new ship, battered as it is, may still be of some use to us."

"Of course, of course," Louis responded, turning away. "How angry do you think Buckingham was when he found out?"

As the king walked away with Richelieu, Treville remained where he was, watching the four musketeers. "Monsieur?" D'Artagnan said, questioningly, giving in first.

"What takes you to Paris?" their captain asked. His tone was firm, making it clear he wanted the whole story.

"The Marquessa de Molin has vanished from the palace in Paris," Athos answered, keeping his voice low. "The queen has requested that we return to Paris to find the her."

"Does the king know?" Treville inquired. "Is this one of Richelieu's plots?"

The four friends exchanged looks. "We don't know, sir," Aramis admitted. "The message we received merely said that Maria had vanished from the palace several nights ago. The queen has asked the Cardinal, but Richelieu maintained he knew nothing of the matter."

"The woman seems to attract trouble," M. de Treville remarked. "Get to Paris, as the queen has requested. I will try to learn what I can of the situation here."

"Thank you, sir."

* * *

><p>Planchet was thrown into a panic when he was informed he was to pack up everything before morning. Still, the lackey managed and as the sun began to show itself, the four friends were on the road to Paris. Riding hard, stopping only when absolutely necessary, they reached Paris two days later.<p>

D'Artagnan sent a note to Constance first thing and a response came within the hour. All four were summoned to the palace. They were ushered into one of the smaller rooms of the palace. Constance was waiting for them. "Her Majesty will be joining us soon," she said. "I'm so glad you're here. So many days have passed, I feared the cardinal had taken my letter."

"You've heard nothing from Maria?" Aramis asked.

Constance shook her head. "Not a word," she answered. "If it had been any other woman, I know it would be plausible to suggest that she has taken a lover, but Maria would never do such a thing. She is unswervingly loyal to the memory of her late husband."

"We know," Porthos said, with a hint of regret in his voice. His eyes narrowed. "Is that what Richelieu has said?"

"Indeed he has," Queen Anne said, stepping into the room. She gestured impatiently as the four men made their bows. "It is shocking that he would not only kidnap Maria, but also slander her reputation as well."

"Your Highness," Athos began carefully, "it may be possible that the cardinal, for all his hatred of Maria, may not have taken her."

"There were only his guards in the palace that night, besides the royal guards," Anne pointed out.

Aramis cleared his throat. "True," he said, "but they may have been bribed by someone else."

The queen frowned at him. "Who else would have a grudge against Maria?" she demanded. "She has never harmed anyone in her life! I am sure of it!"

"That's what we will find out," Athos told her. "We've already come across one Spaniard who disliked her enough to want to kill her."

"Perhaps there may be a clue in her chambers?" Aramis suggested.

Anne hesitated, and then nodded. "Constance searched the room herself and found nothing," she said. "I ordered that the room be left as it was, though, on the cahnce that you would be able to discover something. Constance will show you there. I am relying on you to find her, messieurs. Soon."

Taking these words as a dismissal, the men bowed and began to back out. D'Artagnan paused, and pulled a letter from his pocket. "Your Majesty," he said, holding it out to the queen. "His Majesty, the king, desired that I deliver this letter to you."

Smiling for the first time, the queen took the letter. "Thank you, D'Artagnan," she said. She turned away to read what her husband had written.

"This way," Constance said.

"So, these are Maria's chambers," Porthos commented, the moment he set foot inside the room. "A shame it took her disappearance for me to get to see them."

Constance sent a glare at him that wasn't half as irritated as the one Aramis leveled at the bug man. "What are we supposed to be looking for?" D'Artagnan asked.

"Anything out of the ordinary," Athos responded.

At first, there seemed nothing out of the ordinary in Maria's rooms. The ornate bed was not even rumbled as though someone had slept in it. A hairbrush rested on the dressing table. At the desk, Porthos found an uncapped bottle of ink, though no pen or paper.

Then, Athos knelt in front of the fireplace. Using the iron stoke, he pulled a half burned scrap of paper from the edge of the flames. He unfolded what was left as he stood up.

"What's that, Athos?" Porthos asked, glancing over

"A letter of some sort," Athos responded, casting his eyes over what words remained. "It's in Spanish. Aramis, you take a look."

The former priest came over and held the paper in the light, squinting as he tried to make out the half burned away words. "I can only understand a few words," he said. "'Return.' 'Warn.' 'Past.' The rest is impossible to make out. Do you think it was a threat?"

"Maria is not the type to burn letters," Porthos answered. "Maybe it was a warning for us, and whoever took her had it burned?"

"Where's Carmen?" Athos asked, looking over at the lady in waiting that remained as look out in the doorway.

Constance frowned, looking startled at the same time. "I don't know," she admitted. "She was here when we discovered Maria was gone, for she became hysterical at the news. But, now that you mention it, I haven't seen her since then. Do you want me to send someone for her?"

"Yes," Athos told her.

D'Artagnan smiled at her as she left the room, and then became serious as the door closed. "What do you think happened?"

"I think someone wanted to make it seem as though Maria left of her own free will," Athos answered, gesturing around the room. "Does anything strike you as odd about this room?"

"Its too clean," Porthos responded instantly. "If Maria had been getting ready to retire for the night, there should be clothes here. Her maid wasn't with her when she was taken, so nothing would have been cleaned up."

"Is that what I think it is?" Aramis asked suddenly, moving to the door. He pointed to a single bullet hole half way up the door. "Now, you can't tell me that everyone in this palace didn't hear a pistol being fired last night. I know this place is big, but not that big."

The frown on Athos' face went deeper. "Whoever came must have had a lot of money to bribe that many people."

"So where's the pistol?"

D'Artagnan shrugged, leaning against a bedpost. "Maybe they took it with them?"

he suggested. "Maybe its in her closet."

Athos just shook his head as Aramis and Porthos burst out laughing. "We need to know ever person who came through this corridor last night," Athos said decisively. He paused. "Who checked the wardrobe?"

The four men exchanged looks and turned their heads towards the large piece of furniture. "I thought either Porthos or Aramis would be more than happy to look through the marquessa's clothes," D'Artagnan commented, making no move to go any closer.

"Watch your tongue, boy, that's a lady you're talking about," Porthos threatened, taking a halfhearted swipe at his young friend. "Fine. I'll do it."

"I'll do it," Aramis said, straightening up. He glared at Porthos in challenge.

Amused, D'Artagnan looked between the two friends. The wardrobe door creaked as it opened, making them all look back at it. Looking irritated at the situation, Athos swept his hand at the bottom and came out with a small pistol. "Found it," he announced.

"Think that belonged to the marqeussa?" D'Artagnan asked.

"Yes," Porthos responded, looking grave. "I gave that to her before we left to fight."

Walking over, Aramis took it from Athos and sniffed the barrel. "It's been fired," he reported. "How did it end up in Maria's wardrobe?"

"Maybe she fired it at the door to warn off whoever was coming in," Porthos said. "And then hid in the wardrobe."

Examining the tiny weapon, Aramis held it up and aimed it at the door. "So why wouldn't she have just called for help?" D'Artagnan asked. "She must have known there were guards and servants around."

"That didn't help her," Athos said as the door opened.

Constance froze when she saw the gun being aimed at her. Almost sheepishly, Aramis dropped his hand. "Well? Where is Carmen?" Athos demanded impatiently.

"Carmen's gone."

* * *

><p>It was a morose group that adjourned to the a tavern. "So now what?" D'Artagnan asked, once they had all had time to finish one tankard of ale and get started on a second. "Where are we supposed to look for a woman when we don't even know who took her?"<p>

"Someone in this city must have seen something," Porthos complained.

"We can't possible talk to every single person in Paris before we have to return to duty," Aramis pointed out.

"Well, there has to be something we can do," Porthos groused. He scowled at his tankard. "And why did we have to pass all those other taverns? They would have had better wine than this, I would hope, unless all of Paris has gone to the dogs since we left."

Athos lifted his hand and the tavern keeper hurried over. "Another bottle, gentleman?" he asked, a slight accent to his voice. Aramis, Porthos, and D'Artagnan looked at him in surprise.

"We're actually looking for the tavern a friend of ours stayed at," Athos said, playing with a coin. He didn't look at the man, whose eyes were riveted on the gold coin. "I am right in thinking this is where most Spaniard men of some means stay when they come to Paris, isn't it?"

Swiftly, Aramis glanced around and recognized the tavern as being a part of the inn he and Porthos had visited months before. "I do have that distinction, sir," the tavern keeper said, a suspicious tone in his voice. "Is there something that I can do for you, gentleman?"

"If this is the tavern, I wanted to see it for myself this paragon tavern," Athos said idly. "Tell me, what other tavern hosts Spaniards?"

"I don't have any rivals," the man answered, still suspicious. For a brief moment, he looked at the others gathered around the table. "I've seen two of you here before, haven't I? And there was a disturbance..."

Remembering the fight, Porthos looked in the other direction. Athos let the gold coin fall to the table and pulled another from a pocket to get the man's attention again. "Our friend arrived a week or so ago," he continued. "Would you be so good as to tell us whether it was here he came?"

The man drew himself up proudly. "I do not accept bribes, sir," he said, his eyes still on the coins. "I respect my customers privacy."

At his words, the musketeers exchanged looks, and Porthos got to his feet. "I suggest you tell us what we want to know," the big man said, a note of threat in his voice. Pulling his attention from the gold, the innkeeper hesitated, sizing Porthos up.

"There was a man," he admitted. "I was surprised because no one in their right mind travels such a distance this time of year. I left days ago, sirs, and I swear that 's the truth."

"Who was with him?" Aramis demanded. "A woman?"  
>"Not at first. But the night before he left, he returned with a woman, who left with him. I don't know who she was. I never saw her face."<p>

"What room was theirs?" Athos asked, getting to his feet.

Looking concerned, the innkeeper gave the room location. Dropping the second coin on the table, Athos left the tavern. Quickly, his companions followed.

* * *

><p>The room was as any other tavern room. A bed, a chair, and little else. A fireplace was in the wall, ashes still there. "They have a poor servant," Porthos commented, poking at it with his walking stick. "Maybe worse than Planchet, if that's even possible."<p>

His stick dislodged something large from the ashes, and the sound of metal scraping against stone filled the room. Quickly, Porthos knelt down and picked a dagger up, blackened by fire. "Look at this," he said unnecessarily as the others had turned towards him at the sound.

"I gave that to Maria," Aramis exclaimed, recognizing the shape immediately.

"Well, now we know she was here," Athos said, turning away. "D'Artagnan, have a word with the innkeeper. See if he knows what direction they went in when they left."

"Hold on," Aramis said, kneeling in front of the fireplace. He searched through the ashes until he brought out an untouched piece of paper. "This man must really learn to make sure his papers burn when he tosses them into the fire."

Curious, D'Artagnan leaned forward. "What does it say?" he asked. "Is it in Spanish?"

Aramis shook his head. "No, it's written in French," he answered. "All it has is a name. Monsieur Renalde Fernandez Orville."

"Fernandez?" Porthos repeated. "I've heard that name before."

"The Orvilles are a noble family to the south," Athos said. "Their estate is just outside the city." He nodded once. "We leave at dawn."

It was a clear morning as the group left the city. It was close to noon by the time the four men reached the Orville estate. Stable boys hurried to take their horses from them as soon as they dismounted, and the front door opened before they had even reached it.

"I get the feeling we are expected," Aramis muttered in a low voice as he stepped into the large home.

"I will inform Monsieur Orville that you are here," the manservant said, taking their cloaks and gloves. "He has been expecting you for many days now."

Aramis sent a pointed look towards Porthos, who was occupied with looking around the home. Two young, black haired children came running into the hall. An older woman's voice rang out, scolding in Spanish. Startled, the musketeers spun towards the hallway and saw Carmen hurrying into view.

"Carmen!" Aramis and Porthos exclaimed simultaneously. The duenna came to a stop, her eyes wide. The former priest spoke further, having to go slowly to find the right words in Spanish.

"Messieurs," Monsiuer Orville came down the staircase towards them. Without saying a word, Carmen grabbed hold of her charges and rushed away. "I've been expecting you."

"So we were told," Athos responded, eyeing the man. "You know why we're here."

The nobleman nodded once. "Pera said you'd come," he said. He laughed slightly at the confused looks on their faces. "I suppose I should say, Maria Esperanza Fernandez, my father's sister's husband's niece."

"You're related to Maria?" Porthos asked in surprise.

"Distantly," Orville answered. He lifted his hand and held out a folded piece of paper. "She wished for me to give this to you." Cautiously, Athos took it from him. "I will have your horses looked after. I will leave you to your letter."

With a slight bow, the man left the room. "Leave us standing in the hall," Porthos complained as Athos unfolded the paper. A sepearate, sealed paper was contained in it. It was addressed to Queen Anne

"I don't think we'll be staying long anyway," Aramis pointed out. "What does it say, Athos?"

His eyes scanning the script, Athos shook his head and handed it over. Clearing his throat, Aramis read aloud:

_ "'My dear amigos,_

_ I am so sorry for the mess I have made of everything. If I had been completely honest with you from the beginning, if things had been different, I would not be fleeing for my life, and we could be laughing about this together. Maybe over some wine, yes? That would have been a good day._

_ You know it was very well known that my husband worked for the king of Spain, carrying his important papers. And that he was very fond of me. These facts are so well known that those who wish information have come after me, thinking I would have these papers._

_ I can see your frown, Athos, but I did not lie about not having the papers. I do not. However, I never said I did not read them. _

_ And that makes me a target for the English._

_ Yes, the Duke of Buckingham has been actively seeking me. I know in my heart that I would not have the strength to withhold the information if I were to fall into his hands. They think I merely have the papers, but if I were pressured, I am sure to admit to knowing what the papers contained. I will not burden you with that information. I refuse to drag any of you into this mess._

_ I digress. The attack that Buckingham is making on France is a distraction to Buckingham's true purpose: that of finding me. It is not a secret where I am, but now Paris is not as well guarded as it once was. Buckingham has sent his spies after me. I'm sure you've seen the bullet hole in my door._

_ I would have been lost that night, but for one thing. My brother. It is by the merest chance that he was already coming for me. He knew he would not be able to see me publicly, as Richelieu hates Spaniards so, and snuck into the palace. I know Porthos is laughing at that. Proof of the palace guards laxness and stupidity._

_ Bernardo brought me to our cousin's home. From here, we will return to my father's home in Spain. I will be safe there._

_ Do not argue with me, Aramis, that the Musketeers would protect me. If the cardinal has any more fuel to his hatred of Spaniards, it would make things worse for Anne. I will not do that to my friend._

_ In any case, my father is ill and asking for me. I cannot deny him._

_ I regret I cannot say good bye to you in person, but I do not doubt we will cross paths again. It will not be long before the information I carry will be of no use to anyone and I may return once more to the queen's side._

_ Fight for France and justice, as you do so well._

_ Until we meet once more,_

_ Your friend,_

_ Maria'"_

Stunned, Aramis let his hand drop. "She's gone," D'Artagnan said softly. "Back to Spain."

"She is out of Richelieu's reach," Porthos replied. "So she's safe."

"We should return to Paris," Athos said, holding the letter to the queen. "We have a letter to deliver."

* * *

><p>Looking shocked, Queen Anne sat down, staring at the letter in her hand. "I can't believe she's gone," Constance breathed.<p>

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, that we do not bring better news," Athos said.

"No, there is no need for that," Queen Anne said, pulling herself together. "It is better than I had expected. I had expected to hear that the Cardinal had captured her and locked her away. Now I know that she is safe, and that she will return when she is able."

She gestured to Constance. "Thank you, for your hard work," the queen continued. "You have served me well."

Constance brought a small bag over and handed it over. "Thank you, Your Highness," Athos said with a slight bow.

"Please carry this letter to my husband when you return to your duty," the queen requested, also holding out a sealed letter.

Nodding, Aramis took charge of the letter. "We return in two days, Your Highness," he informed her.

With a nod, the queen dismissed them all. "So how are you going to spend your time?" D'Artagnan asked, looking over at where Constance was waiting for him.

"Where do you think?" Aramis responded as Athos and Porthos walked off. "We'll be at a tavern until we ride out, if you need us."

"Are they all right?" Constance asked in concern when D'Artagnan joined her.

"I'm not sure," the young musketeer admitted. "But I think in two days they'll be fine."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: **__**I'm not sure if this is where I was going when I started this, but my muse will not be argued with. Though at the moment, she is debating over whether it would be more fun to have the Musketeer Corp or the Knights of the Round Table to play with. I think I should be very, very afraid.**_


	8. Spain, 1626 Part 1

**_A/N: After many, MANY months, the tale of The Spanish Lady continues. As the chapter indicates, Spain is about to experience the musketeers. ;) _**

**_This is unbetaed, so all mistakes (and I am sure there are some) are mine. Arithanas provided that Spanish dialogue. Enjoy the first part of this particular adventure! _**

* * *

><p><em>Summer, 1626<em>

It was a night lit by a full moon. A cloaked man moved silently through the streets, relying on the bright moon for light. He slipped into a seedy tavern. The other men who chose to patronize this particular tavern didn't even look up at the newcomer. Curiosity could get a man killed in an instant in this section of Paris.

Moving to the bar, the man asked, "You have it?" He set five gold coins on top of the bar as he spoke.

Reaching under the bar, the bartender brought up a sealed letter. With one hand, he collected the coins, and with the other, he handed over the missive. Without a word, he turned away.

Tucking the letter out of sight beneath his cloak, the man also turned away. He wove his way through the crowded tables, making for the door. He heard a couple of drunks get up to leave at the same time, one of them loud and boisterous. Though they followed behind them, the cloaked man chose to ignore them.

It was to be his last mistake.

He had only gone a few steps when there was a blade at his throat. "The letter," a voice said calmly.

"It would be of no use to you, señor," the cloaked man responded, holding very, very still. "Even I do not know what it contains. I am simply a messenger."

"I will not ask again. The letter!"

The Spaniard shrugged and began to reach under his cloak. "If you insist."

He froze as the blade at his throat increased pressure ever so slightly. "Not a move, monsieur. Porthos. Relieve him of the letter."

A large man came around the Spaniard's left side. In a gesture of compliance, the Spaniard spread his arms out. "It seems like he's going to cooperate, Aramis," Porthos commented, searching the man's pockets.

"Ah, I know these names," the Spaniard remarked, his tone conversational. "Aramis and Porthos. Musketeers, yes? Loyal to your king and country. Where is the third member of your oh-so-famous trio?"

"You are remarkably well informed for being a simple messenger," Aramis remarked, ignoring the question.

As Porthos brought the letter into view, the Spaniard reacted. He threw himself backwards, away from Aramis' blade. He twisted around, drawing his own sword as he moved. His first slash caught the back of Porthos' hand, making the big man drop the letter.

"I have yet to fail in any of my deliveries, señores," the man informed them. He moved to stand over the letter where it lay on the ground. "I have no desire to tarnish that reputation now."

"I'm afraid you'll have to," Aramis responded, parrying the man's next attack.

Grimacing at the pain in his hand, Porthos drew his sword and joined the fight. The Spaniard skillfully met both men, blocking each blow, and proving he was not just a messenger as he'd claimed. He'd had extensive training. He held his ground over the letter, not risking a move to pick up and not letting the musketeers near it at the same time.

Finally, Aramis managed to get in close enough to grab the man's wrist. He twisted it just enough to force the Spaniard to let go of his sword. "You will be coming with us," Aramis told him. "And you will answer our questions."

"I can tell you nothing!"

The moment those words left the man's lips, a gunshot echoed in the street. The Spaniard stiffened and fell onto his knees. Cursing, Porthos bolted down the street in the direction the shot had come from, in search of who had done it. Aramis knelt down by the injured Spaniard.

"Tell me what you know," Aramis demanded. "Who sent you for this letter? Who were you to have delivered it to? You can still leave this world with a clean conscience!"

Slowly, the man looked up. Hatred warred with pain in his dark eyes. "Even if I did, you won't be able to stop him," the Spaniard said, a gleeful laugh in his voice. "You musketeers will never win this..."

His voice faded and he slumped to the ground. Aramis checked for a pulse and found nothing. He made the sign of the cross and sat back on his heels with a sigh. He picked up the letter and studied it in the bright moonlight.

"Whoever it was got away," Porthos announced, coming back. He gave the body on the ground a brief glance. "He's dead? Did you learn anything?"

"All we have is the letter," Aramis answered, straightening up. "We're one step closer to finding the traitor in the court."

Porthos nodded, sheathing his sword. "This calls for for wine."

"_After_ we leave this letter in Treville's office. Even then, we can't drink too much, as he'll want us to explain tomorrow morning."

Shrugging, Porthos accepted his friend's decree, and spent a few moments checking the body for anything else that would be of value. "I never imagined that it would be a Spaniard that would be the messenger," he commented. "Spain has no quarrel with France."

"That doesn't mean that can't change," Aramis answered. "And who knows how such a falling out would help Richelieu or any other man with a taste for power." He shook his head. "But, I am not well informed on the Spanish court at the moment."

"Maria would have been."

Aramis turned away. "We should go before we're found."

As the pair set off, leaving the body to be dealt with by another, Porthos looked up at the moon. "Its not too late to stop by a friend's house," he declared with a forced grin. He glanced over at his friend. "I suppose you have 'studying' you want to get done."

"If I'm to become a priest once more, it is a necessary action."

"If you knew you were going to do this, you should have accepted Richelieu's offer," Porthos pointed out, his tone disdainful. "Being a musketeer isn't good enough for you now?"

"We've discussed this before, and I still have no need to explain myself to you."

Silence fell between the normally close friends. And niether of them said anything to the other for the rest of the night.

The next morning, it wasn't Aramis or Porthos who were called to M. de Treville's office. It was Athos, and he wasn't the only one. "Athos," Giles, one of the older members of Musketeers, greeted the dark haired man as he approached the door to Treville's office. "You were summoned too?"

In response, Athos simply nodded. Months had passed since the last attack from England. With the aid from Cardinal Richelieu, they had managed to keep Buckingham's forces from making an headway. In the end, Buckingham had admitted momentary defeat and had retreated back to England, presumably to devise a new strategy.

The musketeers had returned the king to France, and life had settled into an almost normal routine that had most of the musketeers chaffing for action once again. Though there was wine to be drunk, and patrols to go on, there was nothing to break the routine.

Not even a fight with Cardinal Richelieu's guards. Not to say there hadn't been a few close calls, but the guards had been keeping their distance and keeping their insults to themselves. The recent attack by Buckingham had forced the two sides to fight side by side, which had resulted in an almost respect to form between them.

Thinking of the results of that fight inevitably led Athos to remember something he preferred not to bring to mind: the departure of Maria Esperanza Fernandez de la Vega, Marquessa de Molin. The Spanish woman's flight had left two of the Inseparables not themselves, which was a mild way of putting it.

Immediately after having discovered the letter that detailed why she'd left, Porthos had spent several days very, very drunk. He'd then returned to the front lines, looking grimmer than before. And, when they'd returned to Paris, he'd thrown himself into a new relationship with a merchant's wife, resulting in even more outrageous attire.

Aramis had, somehow, become even more reserved. He had kept Porthos company in wine, though not becoming quite as drunk. Now that he was back in Paris, he spent his time among many women, and had even begun to mention making a return to holy orders.

As for Athos himself, he admitted to himself that he'd been affected by the void left by the woman, just in a different way than his friends. He felt no romantic attachment of any kind to the woman, while Porthos and Aramis...well, their flirtation with the marquessa had been an almost game. There was no denying that the woman had brought a liveliness into Paris. She had also freely called the Musketeers her friends, fiercely defending them to court. However, she had held onto many secrets, reminding Athos all too much of Milady.

"Athos, Giles," M. de Treville greeted, coming towards them. Thankfully, Athos left off thinking of the past. "Thank you for coming. Please come in."

The head of the musketeers led the two men into his office. He walked around his desk and took a seat. Athos and Giles took their stations in front of the desk, standing at attention. "I have a mission with a great deal of responsibility for you."

"I assume that there is a level of secrecy attached," Athos surmised.

A ghost of a smile appeared on Treville's lips. "Correct," he agreed. He selected a paper from among the many stacked on the side of his desk. "No one can know where you are going or what you will be doing. If it were to become known...well, there is the very real risk that it could turn into Venice all over again."

Giles glanced over at Athos, who made no reaction to the reference of the failed mission. "Perhaps you both are aware of the task that Porthos and Aramis have undertaken in these past few weeks, of uncovering how information was being leaked out of the palace," Treville commented. "Last night, they uncovered a letter of great significance."

"Sir, why are Porthos and Aramis not here?" Giles asked. "If they are the ones who uncovered this, then it ought to fall to them to continue with their mission."

"Once I've finished you might understand my apprehension in sending Aramis and Porthos on this mission," Treville answered. "The letter was addressed to a certain traitor to France that we have long attempted to deal with. He has finally resurfaced, and is proving himself as much danger to France as he ever was. It will be your responsibility to take him into custody and return him to Paris to be dealt with."

"He's not in France?" Giles queried in surprise.

At the same time, Athos asked, "Who is the traitor?"

"You both know him. It is Armand Firmin," Treville answered, his tone very serious. Both musketeers before him tensed. "I see you both remember him. Somehow, he has managed to keep his vine of information and is selling this information to Buckingham. You understand the need to end his work."

Athos nodded. "We will bring him in."

"He won't be difficult to find, as we know exactly where he is," Treville said. "He is in Spain."

"Spain?" Giles repeated.

It was well known that Spain was no enemy of France, at the moment. But it was also no secret that for two Musketeers to go into the country to extract a man, who had without a doubt made himself of use to said country, would not be taken very well by any country. Athos knew he and Giles would have to be quick and unseen.

"This should see you there and back," Treville said, setting a bag of coins on the desk. He set beside it the letter he'd picked up at the start of the conversation. "This letter, written by someone unknown to us in the palace, is expected by Firmin."

Giles frowned. "With all due respect, monsieur, shouldn't Aramis be the one going on this mission?" he asked. "He knows more of the language than I do."

"Perhaps, but I have my concerns about how focused he and Porthos would be in Spain," Treville admitted. "They will continue their search for the spy in the palace. I have assigned this to the two of you. I was thinking that this may be a good opportunity to train a younger recruit on the finer details of a mission of this nature."

"D'Artagnan," Athos said without hesitation.

"Exactly. Having grown up in Gascony, he will know some Spanish, which could be of some help. However, its not required."

Glancing over at Athos, who made a short nod, Giles said, "We'll be happy to take the boy with us, sir. Between us, we may be able to make do with what we know of the language. Is there anything else?"

"The quicker you go and return, the better. I'm sure D'Artagnan will have many questions and I trust you will enlighten him," Treville answered. "You are dismissed."

Athos picked up the letter and the coins. He followed Giles out. "Shall we meet here tomorrow morning at dawn?" Giles asked.

"I will let D'Artagnan know."

* * *

><p>It wasn't hard to find the young musketeer, who was practicing with one of the other older men in the yard of the Musketeer Headquarters. For a moment, Athos simply watched the young man. In the past year, D'Artagnan had shown himself to be a capable and valuable member of the corps. He was generally well liked, and even Treville spoke highly of him.<p>

There was still a hint of the cocky boy as D'Artagnan disarmed his opponent with a wide grin. "D'Artagnan!" Athos called out as D'Artagnan's weaponless opponent admitted defeat. "I need to speak with you."

Sheathing his sword, D'Artagnan helped his opponent up and then walked over with a bounce in his step. "What's happened?" he asked eagerly. At Athos' gesture, D'Artagnan followed the older man out of the yard into the street. "Is it as bad as all this?"

"M. de Treville has assigned myself and Giles a mission," Athos explained as he kept walking. "We are taking you along with us to train you."

At the prospect of learning something new, D'Artagnan's eyes lit up. "Where are we going?" he asked, keeping pace beside his friend. "What's our mission?"

"We are traveling to Spain to bring back a French traitor," Athos told him succinctly. "We can say nothing to Aramis and Porthos, or anyone else for that matter. Not even your Constance."

Considering this, D'Artagnan hesitated. "Spain?"

"Spain," Athos said. "The man we are seeking is a French nobleman by the name of Armand Firmin. Several years ago, we almost had him for conspiring against the crown. He managed to escape and we couldn't find him. A Spaniard contacted Treville to inform us that Firmin has finally come out of hiding in Spain."

As perceptive as ever, D'Artagnan frowned at the frigid tone of Athos' voice. "What else was there?" he asked. "There must have been scores of people who have plotted against France. What makes this one man so much of a threat?"

"He went through women like the king goes through fashion."

Not understanding, D'Artagnan practically ran to keep up. "I know a lot of men who enjoy the company of women. Look at Aramis. He's on intimate terms with-."

Stopping abruptly, Athos faced D'Artagnan, who recoiled at the barely controlled fury on his friend's face. "There can be no comparison between Firmin and Aramis. Firmin would kill the woman once he was done with them," Athos snapped, his tone blunt. "And his taste ran to young women, some no more than children."

Horrified, D'Artagnan widened his eyes. "Oh," was all he was able to say. Athos walked on, and D'Artagnan scrambled to catch up. "But now we'll have him?"

Athos almost smiled at his young friend's use of the word 'we', breaking through his grim demeanor. Any offense against the musketeers, or in a case such as this situation, and D'Artagnan clearly put himself on his friends' side as if it was an offense against himself. Though he hadn't been there at the start, it was his business now.

"Yes, now we'll have him," Athos agreed. "I only wish that Aramis and Porthos could be there to see it end."

D'Artagnan nodded, looking customarily grave. He knew as well as Athos did why their friends had not been included in this mission. Not only the matter of the fewer who knew the better, but Spain was where Maria had fled to. There could be no distraction, and it would not have been easy to keep Porthos and Aramis from trying to seek their female friend out.

"They'll understand," D'Artagnan said. "When we've returned and can explain."

When Aramis and Porthos had drowned their grief over Maria's flight in wine, D'Artagnan had been the one to bring them out of it with reminders of their duty to France. Athos had even on occasion found the youngest member of the _Inseperables _regarding him with concern in those few days. But Athos had spent too many days drinking over a woman, and he'd remained mostly sober.

"They will probably knock us off our feet for going out of France without them," Athos corrected and added silently, and for not searching the woman out.

Considering that, D'Artagnan shrugged his shoulders. "They've moved on though, right?" he asked, sounding more than a little uncertain. "Neither of them were actually involved with her, were they?"

"As far as I know, neither of them got farther than flirtation," Athos stated dismissively. "We meet Giles tomorrow at dawn in front of Musketeer Headquarters. We have preparations to make."

Visibly, D'Artagnan hesitated. "May I at least tell Constance I won't be coming around for a while?"

"Very well," Athos granted. "If you must."

Grinning, D'Artagnan took off in the other direction. Athos sighed and continued on his way.

* * *

><p>"You've been assigned the task of tracking down who was to be the recipient of the letter?" Porthos exclaimed in disbelief the moment he returned from his patrol. Clearly, Treville had spoken with him. "First of all, why? The padre and I were the ones to get this far in the investigation! And second of all, why are we being excluded?"<p>

"I am not the one to give you those answers, Porthos," Athos answered calmly. He tossed a bundle at Planchet to take care of. The already overwhelmed man servant managed to catch the bundle, but had to juggle it along with his other burdens as he worked to get Athos and D'Artagnan ready to depart. "Speak to Treville."

Porthos glared at him. "I already have! He wouldn't give me an explanation either!"

Calmly, Aramis turned a page in the book he was reading. "Then, apparently we do not need to know Porthos," he said. "We still have to discover who it is in the palace who is sending information out of France."

"But its not right! We did the work."

"You'll survive, somehow."

Whatever Porthos intended to say was interrupted with D'Artagnan coming in, looking completely dejected. "What's wrong with you, boy?" Porthos asked, distracted by the unusual expression on his young friend's face. "Athos said you'd gone to speak to Constance."

Flopping down into a chair, D'Artagnan put his arms on the tabletop and rested his head on them. "I did," came his muffled response.

For the first time, Aramis raised his eyes from his book. "Is there a problem?"

"Constance is mad that I can't tell her where I'm going or when I'll be back."

Rolling his eyes, Athos poured himself some more wine. "Did you tell her it was for the good of France?" Porthos asked. "That should work. It generally does for me."

"Yes, that's what I told her, but all it did was make her even more mad at me," D'Artagnan answered. "She still didn't understand why I couldn't tell her and said I can't use France as an excuse. I haven't seen her so mad since we were in the country last year when all of you managed to offend M-."

He broke off, realizing what he was saying. "When we all offended Maria," Aramis finished for him. He closed his book and took his glasses off. "This seems to be a recurring problem with you and Constance, D'Artagnan. If you don't mind me saying so."

D'Artagnan's glare said that he did, in fact, mind Aramis saying it. "She's concerned that no one will know where to come after us when things go wrong," the young man said

"The girl does have a point," Porthos agreed.

"_If_ it does go wrong, D'Artagnan and I would not be coming back," Athos said, anxious to put an end to the conversation. "But its not going to go wrong. The Corps would not be able to endure the disgrace of another failed mission."

His words made Porthos scowl. "Ah, another Venice mission," Aramis replied understandingly. Cursing under his breath at how much he'd revealed, Athos turned away. "We will question you no further. But know that our prayers will go with you."

As always, Porthos was distracted by Aramis' piety. "You're not still on that, are you?" he demanded. "You gave the priest thing more than enough time, Aramis. Look how well it turned out in the past. Why do you think it will be any different this time?"

"Not two years ago you were the one suggesting I go back."

"That was before we were reinstated into the musketeer ranks!"

D'Artagnan took the opportunity to pick himself up from the table and hurry out to avoid hearing the two debate the issue...again. Athos finished his tankard of wine, and reached for the bottle. At least the first part of the mission would bring some peace and quiet!

* * *

><p>Gruff farewells were exchanged among them all when D'Artagnan and Athos left the house before dawn. Planchet yawned all the way down the street. By the time they met up with Giles in front of the Musketeer Headquarters, the sun had just started to peek over the horizon.<p>

As they rode through Gascony, D'Artagnan was at first excited and then became withdrawn. Athos chose not to speak about the issue, knowing his young friend was missing his parents. He was relieved when D'Artagnan returned to normal, but made a mental note to speak to Treville about granting the young musketeer some time off once this mission was over.

The closer they got to the France/Spain border, the more Spanish became spoken in the taverns. Giles worked on honing his language skill more and more. It was time well spent. Once they crossed the border, he became their only way of communicating at each stop, though D'Artagnan could understand half of what was being said.

It took two weeks of riding before they reached Madrid. D'Artagnan was bursting with excitement to have finally arrived. He alone had found the journey to be boring, and was anxious for something new to happen. "Try to contain yourself, D'Artagnan," Athos advised. "If our purpose is revealed now, we'll not only lose Firmin, but Treville will demote all three of us, and that's only if he doesn't dismiss us on sight."

Flushing, D'Artagnan nodded and reined in his enthusiasm. He'd learned much from the two older musketeers already, and knew just what was at stake for this mission. He did not want to be the one to ruin it for them.

The trio took rooms at a somewhat respectable looking inn near the edge of the city. After a night's rest, the trio split up. Giles set off to get discover some information, while Athos and D'Artagnan went out to get feel for the city. All three met up at sunset, having nothing new to report. And the next morning it began again.

For four days, the musketeers searched for their target. Then finally, they made progress. "Firmin's here," Giles reported when he returned just before the sun set on the fifth day of their search. He gestured to the barmaid for a bottle and waited until she'd left before he continued, "He has done extremely well for himself here in Spain. From what I've heard, he's gotten in with a Conde Marquez."

"Marquez?" Athos repeated. "The same family name as the Marquesa de la Vega's escorts to Paris."

Giles shrugged. "Firmin has a residence here in Madrid, and a country estate," he went on with his report. "And he's here in Madrid at the moment. Though he has plans on returning to the country for the summer."

"Then we have to move fast," Athos decided. His eyebrows went up as he caught sight of D'Artagnan entering the tavern. The young man was nursing a swollen eye. "D'Artagnan, what did you do?"

"Nothing!" D'Artagnan protested, taking a seat. "I was in the market and the next thing I knew this guy was after me. All I did was make eye contact."

Sighing, Giles sighed. "Its offensive here, D'Artagnan."

"I didn't know that!"

"And keep your voice down!" Giles snapped as multiple looks came their way. "That's another fast way to offend Spaniards. You can say whatever you want, but for God's sake, keep your voice down."

Clenching his jaw, D'Artagnan said nothing. "The sooner we leave, the better," Athos decreed. "All right. We know where he is. Tomorrow, we reintroduce ourselves to our old friend."

* * *

><p>The three musketeers took care to shadow their target all of the next day, conferring only once to establish a plan of action. The day faded into night, and the plan was set into action.<p>

Close to midnight, D'Artagnan, his face hidden by his hat and the shadows, pounded on the front door. **"**_**Una audiencia con el conde," **_he announced to the stern butler who answered the door. _**"Traigo una carta de París."**_

The butler merely nodded and allowed D'Artagnan in. Keeping his head down, the young musketeer followed the butler to a library. He wasn't surprised when the door was closed behind him, and he was left to await the French nobleman.

Moving quickly, D'Artagnan opened the window. "He was expecting a messenger," the young man said in a hushed voice as Athos and Giles climbed in. "The butler didn't even bat an eye. Messengers must be a common sight here."

"Naturally, given that Firmin deals in information," Athos responded. He held his finger to his lips as footsteps sounded in the hallway outside. He and Giles quickly split up, each choosing a different place to hide. Giles dodged behind the door as it opened, and Athos blended into the shadows against a bookshelf so well he reminded D'Artagnan of Aramis.

Armand Firmin, a tall, well built man, strode across the library. He waved a hand in acknowledgment at D'Artagnan. He went straight to his desk and took a seat. He poured himself a glass of wine, sipped it, and, finally, held his hand out. "The letter, if you please," was all he said.

Trying to hide his irritation, D'Artagnan handed the letter over. He knew his accent would give him away, so kept silent. Firmin frowned at the seal. "This has been tampered with," he said, looking up. "You ran into trouble."

"Musketeers," D'Artagnan said in as gruff a voice as he could manage.

"Ah, it must be driving them mad to know you got away," Firmin commented with a wicked grin. He then seemed to forget D'Artagnan as he opened the letter and scanned the contents. He lifted a quill, dipped it in ink, and took a quick note. "As expected. This will bring a very good price."

He once again looked up and heaved an exaggerated sigh. "You do realize that since that the musketeers have seen you, you are of no use to me," he said, bringing a pistol up. He frowned as D'Artagnan made no move, only chuckled. "What? What is so very amusing?"

"Firmin."

The man tensed as a blade came against his throat, and his blue eyes widened in fear for a split second before he was smiling with ease. "Well, if it isn't my dear fried de la Fere," he said, setting the pistol onto the desk. "What's it been? Ten years?"

Keeping his rapier steady, Athos regarded him with no expression on his face. "You know how long its been."

Slowly turning to face his new opponent, Firmin chuckled. "I have to say this is a surprise. What ever happened to that charming, lovely lady of yours?" Firmin asked. "Did she come with you? Though, I suppose if she had, she would be the one in here, not this boy of yours. Did you find yourself another pet, de la Fere?"

"I no longer by that name, Firmin," Athos said sharply, ignoring the man's questions. He glanced at D'Artagnan and nodded. With an answering nod, the young musketeer left the room. "You will return to Paris and face the justice you avoided ten years ago."

Firmin smirked. "Oh, I don't think so," he answered. "You see, I know you better than you think I do. I know what happened in Venice, my dear de la Fere. You can't risk causing another international incident, or you'll be ruined for good. All I have to do now is call for my servants and have you arrested. Then, I will vanish, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"I did not come all this way to have a repeat of what happened ten years ago."

"I'm afraid that's all that is going to happen, de la Fere," Firmin sneered. "I'm impressed you managed to get in without being caught by my servants, but you were always very good at that, weren't you? And having your young friend pose as my messenger. That was a very good plan. They all look alike to me. But it will all be for nothing."

"You are mistaken."

"Have you done a search of my home already?" Firmin asked. "Did you happen to come across the lovely young lady I have waiting for me upstairs? When we are through here, I have her charms to enjoy."

"The child will be returned to her family where she belongs," Athos said, anger rising in his tone for the first time. "I know you, Firmin, and expected your tastes hadn't changed."

For a moment, Firmin looked annoyed and then he shrugged. "There will be other girls," he responded. "And money can buy a great many of them." He moved to stand up. "As pleasant as this reunion has been, I'm going to call for my men now. You shouldn't have come alone, de la Fere. Your pride will always be your undoing."

A smile found its way to Athos' face. "That is where you are wrong," he responded. "Giles."

Before Firmin could react, Giles came across the room from here he'd stayed by the door. Without hesitation, Giles struck the back of Firmin's head, knocking the man unconscious. "You were right," Giles said in surprise. "He thought you only had D'Artagnan, who you sent out of the room."

"He assumed that since Aramis and Porthos were not here, I would have no to assist me," Athos answered, walking around the desk to join his fellow musketeer. "We need to get him out of here."

Nodding in agreement, Giles took Firmin's right arm, and Athos took the left. Together, they hoisted the man out of the seat. "You know, D'Artagnan's strength and youth would have come in handy right about now," Giles commented, as they dragged the man to the closest window.

"He will be better off returning the girl to her family," Athos answered, pushing the window open. "His temper would have gotten ahead of him by this point."

"If you say so."

The ground was several feet below them. The two musketeers looked down, and then exchanged glances. Together, they pushed Firmin out. Giles climbed out next, landing by their prisoner. After blowing out the candles on the desk, Athos followed Giles out.

"You think that old barn we saw on the way into the city will be good enough to hold him?" Giles asked, picking up Firmin's feet.

"One of us will be guarding him," Athos responded, taking Firmin's arms. "It will do well enough until we can get a mount to take Firmin back to Paris."

Giles grunted under the effort of carrying the unconscious man. "I have to say, I like it when missions go according to plan."

"Its not over yet, and I expect we'll have some kind of setback."

* * *

><p>The tearful Spanish family thanked D'Artagnan over and over for having their thirteen year old daughter returned to them. As best he could, D'Artagnan made his escape. His blood still boiled when he thought of how he'd found the girl: tied to a bed in one of the chambers. She'd been crying. Even having been warned about Firmin's tastes, he would never have expected to seen it up close.<p>

But Athos had, and had instructed D'Artagnan to find the girl, having no doubt that a girl would be found there. D'Artagnan supposed that having dealt with the man years before gave Athos a bit of an edge.

He rode to the designated meeting place. He arrived in time to see Athos and Giles finish tying the Frenchman in place. "You got him!"

"The girl?" Athos asked, glancing over.

"Back home. It wasn't very far away, once she calmed down enough to tell me where," D'Artagnan responded. "Her family was ecstatic." He glanced at their prisoner and grimaced at the thought of getting back into the saddle in the morning. "Please tell me we are not going to get back in the saddle tomorrow morning, are we?"

Giles chuckled. "No," Athos answered. "I'm sure finding a suitable mount won't be easy."

A laugh caught their attention. Firmin had come around and was tugging experimentally at his bound hands. "You really think you've won, don't you?" he asked, his tone conversational. He hissed in pain as he moved his head.

"I think that's a good summation of the situation," Giles answered. He turned his back on the man. "I can keep watch tonight, Athos. You and D'Artagnan get some rest. I can handle a restrained man."

"Just because I've been caught doesn't mean you've stopped the vine of information," Firmin said in an off hand way. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall as the musketeers looked at him. "My partner will just take over where I've left off."

"Partner?" D'Artagnan repeated with a frown. "He's working with someone?"

Athos shook his head and said in a low voice, "He's trying to save himself. Don't listen to anything he says, D'Artagnan."

Firmin chuckled. "How do you think France will fare if the currently peaceful relations with Spain become strained?" he asked. "She really has done her work well. I've always been an admirer of women, but never quite comprehended until now just what an asset a woman could be in acquiring information."

Exchanging looks with Giles, who shrugged, Athos stepped closer. "If you're trying to distract us, its not going to work," he warned, coldly. Firmin's words had brought to mind Milady, and that was never an improvement to Athos' mood.

"She managed what I had never even considered," Firmin continued as if Athos hadn't spoken. "Befriending the musketeers? A brilliant move! A shame she had to leave just when she was in the perfect position. But then, that's the nature of business, I suppose."

"Enough of the puzzles, Firmin," Giles snapped, grabbing Athos' arm to keep the man back. "If you have something to say, just say it."

Firmin's eyes opened and he looked momentarily puzzled. "I have nothing to say."

"My blow must have loosened his wits," Giles remarked to Athos. "You go on. I'll keep my ears open."

Nodding, Athos started for the door. He caught D'Artagnan's arm and pushed him out. His steps hesitated, though, when Firmin called after him, "When you happen to see the former lovely Marquesa de la Vega, kindly give her my regards."

Knowing Firmin wanted his attention, wanted him to come back, Athos kept walking, making sure to close the door behind him. "What was that about?" D'Artagnan asked.

"I'm not sure," Athos admitted reluctantly. "Perhaps in the light of day, his words will make sense."

D'Artagnan nodded. "He seemed certain we were going to meet Maria here," he commented. "Do you think she's in the area?"

"Its none of our business if she is," Athos said, pulling himself into the saddle. "Let's go."


	9. Spain, 1626 Part 2

_**A/N: And the tale continues. Thanks goes to Arithanas for the Spanish dialogue. **_

* * *

><p>It was close to noon when D'Artagnan pushed open the shutters over the windows in the room he and Athos had shared to sleep in. Sunlight fell on Athos' face. The musketeer groaned and tried to turn away. An empty wine bottle fell from his hand. "D'Artagnan, go away," the man complained.<p>

"Athos, enough of this," D'Artagnan said, trying to sound firm. All he managed was to sound nervous. "I have to replace Giles in watching our prisoner, and he needs some rest. Someone has to find a way to get Firmin to Paris."

Forcing his eyes open, Athos sat up. Vaguely, he wondered just how much wine he'd managed to relieve the tavern of over the course of the night. He did recall finding some Spanish men with a taste for wine that had put him in mind of Porthos and Aramis' enthusiasm for the activity.

"All right," he grumbled. "Go. I'll start searching for a mount or carriage to return to Paris in."

"Last night you said something about not being surprised a woman was in the middle of this mess," D'Artagnan commented. "What was that about?"

Frowning, Athos thought back and couldn't recall having said any such thing. "Nothing," he answered decisively. "Firmin's words must have stuck with me more than I thought. Go. Giles will be expecting one of us."

Hesitating, D'Artagnan waited until Athos shot him a pointed glare. The young musketeer quickly left the room. Dragging himself up, Athos made himself as presentable as possible. He ignored the curious looks sent his way when he set foot in the tavern. He waved an entirely too eager barmaid and went outside.

He squinted in the bright light and started off in the general direction D'Artagnan had said the marketplace was. It wasn't the first time he'd walked along streets that weren't Parisian, but it had been a few years. At the moment, he just wanted to get back to Paris.

When a group of children ran in front of him, Athos jerked to the side to avoid tripping over them. In doing so, he hit a veiled woman. _**"¡Qué atrevimiento, señor!"**_ the woman's duena exclaimed in outrage. _**"Exijo que se disculpe en este instante."**_

_**"Dispense usted, señora,"**_Athos responded, recovering his balance and stepping back.

"Athos?"

As the duena fussed over the veiled woman's appearance, Athos recognized the voice. "Dońa Maria," he said with a sigh. He made a half-hearted bow, mindful of the expected Spanish manners. "I wasn't expecting to meet you in a marketplace."

_**"¡Doña Esperanza! ¡No es propio hablar con extranjeros!" **_the duena gasped in shocked tones. _**"¡Y mucho menos sin el permiso de su hermano!"**_

Though he couldn't see her face, Athos could tell by the way Maria's head turned toward the duena that she was annoyed. Then, she stepped closer. "Meet me outside the city at the south cemetery in an hour," Maria said in a very low voice. _**"Ven, prima."**_

Athos was left staring at the woman, who was dressed all in black, in much the same manner that he'd last seen her in Paris. He saw her climb into a very fancy carriage, the windows of which were covered with black curtains. Shaking his head, Athos continued on his way, determined not to be distracted from his purpose. After only a few steps, though, he swore under his breath and turned back.

'The south cemetery' was very vague, and Athos knew it would take time to find the right one.

* * *

><p>The sun was bright which did nothing to help his headache. The terrain was unfamiliar which also annoying. Finally, though, Athos spotted a very large cemetery. The carriage he'd seen in the market was outside the gates, and the duena was pacing in front of the gates.<p>

Choosing to ride around for another entrance, Athos left his horse tethered to a tree and slipped in through a small side gate. He walked among the gravestones, large and small, searching for Maria. After ten minutes of searching, he spotted the still veiled woman crouched beside two gravestones, her hand resting on the smaller of the pair.

"Hello, Athos," Maria said, the only sign that she knew he was there. "Welcome to Madrid."

"Why did you ask to meet me here?" Athos demanded.

"It would have been impossible to speak to you in the market," she responded, remaining where she was. "Far too many ears to overhear what we would say. I come here often, so no one will think anything of it."

At her words, Athos took a second look at the stones, and the words engraved on them. The large one displayed de la Vega, among other names that were not recognizable. And the small one where Maria's gloved hand rested, had no name, merely the birth and death day: the same day was engraved in both places the stone.

"You had a child?" Athos asked in shock.

As if burned, Maria jerked her hand away from the stone. "Why have you come to Madrid, Athos?" she wanted to know, ignoring his question. "Are Aramis and Porthos here as well?"

"They are in Paris, working at finding a traitor in the palace," Athos told her. "I was sent to retrieve a man who sells information."

Maria nodded. "Armand Firmin."

Stepping forward, Athos frowned at her. "How do you know that?"

Heaving a big sigh, Maria bowed her head. "So suspicious so quickly?" she commented softly. "I overheard him speaking to someone else months ago. At a dinner my brother's father in law gave." Her hand moved up to her face. "I didn't see who it was. But the woman had information for him, and she was someone he hadn't seen in very long time."

Again, Athos was reminded of Milady, and he was getting very irritated at the reminders. "Well, that was something I didn't know five minutes ago. What else?"

"I thought I was careful getting away," Maria continued, sounding thoughtful. Her hands grasped the edge of her veil. "I suppose I should have expected this."

"Stop speaking in riddles, and get to the-," Athos snapped in annoyance. He broke off as she lifted her veil and turned to face him. A still healing wound, narrow and straight, ran the length of her right cheek. Only the slender blade of a dagger could have caused such a mark, and would almost certainly leave a scar behind. "Who did that to you? Firmin sent a man to kill you?"

She shook her head. "I'm not entirely convinced Firmin was behind the man who attacked me, and it wasn't to kill me," she corrected. "The man wanted...information that I could not give. I suppose I should be glad you're taking Firmin away. He knows where my brother will be sending me to, and now he won't be able to sell that information. If he hasn't already, that is."

Frowning, Athos began to consider this new information. "This has to do with your husband's papers which were stolen?" he asked. He tried to keep his eyes off the scar, but it was not easy.

Lifting one shoulder, Maria answered, "Whatever information was in those papers is now outdated. No, he wanted to know of the palace in Paris. He wanted information on the musketeers, on the Cardinal's guards."

"Firmin would already know that information," Athos said thoughtfully. He sent a sharp look at her. "Why didn't you try to warn us?"

Maria sighed again. "Athos, Spain is not like Paris. I am under my brother's authority now that my father is dead," she answered. "I have tried to send letters to France, but they have all been intercepted." She shook her head. "I have been bidding my time until I am in place at the convent in the hopes I could get something through from there."

"A convent? You're going to be a nun?" Athos asked in disbelief. He shook his head. "You and Aramis will set the religious world on its head."

"Its not a question of what I want," Maria responded, sharply. Her hands coiled into fists and then relaxed. "I'm too tired to keep fighting. Everything has been taken from me. I have no friends left. My parents are dead. My husband was murdered. My reputation is nonexistent. My son..." She looked over at the small gravestone again. "I have nothing left to give."

Shocked, Athos looked closer at the little stone. No name coupled with the birth and death date being the same could only mean the child had not lived long after being born. "You never said," was all he could think to say.

"I'm tired of being a pawn in someone else's game," Maria went on as though he hadn't spoken. "A nunnery seems the only thing left for a woman like me."

As much as he wanted to just leave her be and finish his mission, Athos had the feeling he needed her help to find Firmin's partner. Crouching down beside her, Athos decided to take a leaf from D'Artagnan's book. "Do you think you have the monopoly on loss?" he asked sharply. "Do you think you're the only one to have ever been betrayed or thought you had nothing left?"

Tears sparkled in her eyes. "No," she whispered. "But what am I supposed to do?"

"Find something worth fighting for," Athos told her, thinking of what an impact D'Artagnan had been, not only on his life, but in the lives of Porthos and Aramis as well. "There are two musketeers in Paris who would object to the idea that you had no friends left. And I'm certain they would offer you the complete opposite of a nun's life."

That drew a choked laugh from the woman. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "My friends," she said.

Feeling old that he was starting to feel cramped in his current position, Athos stood up. "Are you going to help us or not?"

For a moment, she didn't answer. "Since you asked so nicely, yes," Maria finally said. She got to her feet. "I don't know how you expect me to help. All I have are my suspicions that there is a plot against France, and I believe Firmin is one of the masterminds."

"Firmin has already been taken into our custody,"Athos informed her in an offhand way. "He mentioned having a partner, who would take over where he left off."

Maria frowned. "It couldn't have been the woman I heard," she responded. "Firmin has a Spanish outlook that a woman is to be seen and not heard. He'd never willingly go along with anything a woman would say."

Shaking his head, Athos objected, "That maybe what he wants people to think. What he said before hinted at an almost respect for how a woman befriended the musketeers..." His voice trailed off.

"I wondered how long it would take before you suspected me," Maria said with a sigh.

"No, the only woman who would fit the description Firmin gave is dead," Athos answered. "I saw her take her own life."

The look Maria sent him became quizical. "Do you suppose that Firmin will be in a better condition for questions now?" was all she asked though.

"Why do you assume he wasn't before?"

"You're a musketeer, and you came all the way to Spain to catch him. Why _wouldn't_ I assume you did something to him?"

Athos shrugged, accepting her logic. "He wanted me to give you his regards."

"I'm sure he did," Maria said. She glanced towards the front of the cemetery. "My cousin will come looking for me soon. I should get back to her."

"Is there anyone here in Madrid who would be able to help discover who Firmin was working with?"

Sighing again, Maria nodded. "My oldest brother is a member of the Spanish court," she said, her tone reluctant. "If anyone would know a nobleman with a grudge against France, it would be Alejandro."

"Lead the way."

Pulling her veil back down, Maria warned, "Keep far back, Athos. My driver has eyes like a hawk and he will not take kindly to you following us.

"Dońa Maria, I am a musketeer. If I do not want someone to see me, they do not."

* * *

><p>It wasn't difficult to follow the carriage. Athos contemplated everything he'd learned. From everything that had been said, he had the deep suspicion that his former wife had survived. But how could she have? Or was this simply someone following Milady's footsteps? And for a split second, he had suspected Maria.<p>

But he'd dismissed that thought just as quickly as it had come. In spite of her secrets, the young marquesa had shown nothing but loyalty to her friends. And, speaking of friends, he knew for a fact that when Porthos and Aramis learned of this, they both be very, VERY unhappy with what had happened to the woman's face. Both would probably vow revenge on the spot, and Athos would be hardpressed to attempt to stop them.

Once they reached the city, Athos felt confident enough to move in closer. He trailed along until the carriage reached a large home. Athos stayed back as Maria and her duena went in, and then swung down to the ground. When he reached the front door, he could hear raised voices coming from within.

Tilting his head, he held back from knocking, and listened, realizing that both voices were speaking in French. "-why should I not visit my son's grave? I do not have to detail every move I make, Alejandro!"

It was Maria's voice. "Pera, I am responsible for you," a man responded sharply. Athos frowned at the name 'Pera.' "I don't understand you! Your life was threatened! Your beauty ruined! And still you defy every order I give! You should be grateful for the protection I give you!"

"You are being a fool! Why should I be grateful that you meddle in my life over and over again? You forget that I am a married woman!"

"You are a widow and I am the head of this family now! As my sister, you will show me some respect."

"And as my brother you should show me some respect as well! And you should listen when I try to tell you something!" Maria spat back.

It became silent, and Athos banged on the door. A young maid pulled open the door, and the musketeer was able to look in. His hand falling to his side slowly, Maria's brother looked torn between regret and anger. "Return to your room, Pera," he said evenly. "Perhaps once you've taken vows, you will allow yourself to consider your place in the world and appreciate what I have done."

"God forgive you, Alejandro, for I cannot," Maria answered. She turned, her left hand still pressed against her reddened cheek. Her eyes widened as she saw Athos. "Athos."

"Marquesa," Athos responded.

"May I assist you, senor?" Maria's brother asked, realizing abruptly that there was a spectator to the scene. "Pera, leave me to my guest."

"Don Alejandro Montoya, this is senor Athos, one of the musketeers who saved my life on so many occasions in Paris," Maria responded. She kept her hand in place on her cheek. "I-...please excuse me. You must have business to discuss with my brother."

Athos stepped into the house, nodding at her. "Come have a drink with me," Montoya invited. "If you are one of the men who saved my sister, then I must thank you. She has spoken very highly of you since she has returned."

As Maria hurried away, Athos followed Montoya to a large library. "What brings a musketeer to Madrid and my home?" the Spanish nobleman asked, pouring wine into ornate glasses. He offered one to Athos and gestured for him to have a seat.

Sipping the rather excellent wine, Athos chose a seat. In as few words as possible, he outlined what had brought him to Madrid, how he and his companions had captured their target, and the suspicion of a partner. He was careful to keep Maria's name out of the entire thing. As it was, by the time he'd finished, Montoya was frowning.

"A partner? That is ridiculous!" Montoya said, shaking his head. "Firmin is well known for knowing anything and everything of importance. Have you considered that he is a liar trying to save himself?"

"Even Armand Firmin cannot be plotting the ruination of a country by himself."

Montoya finished his wine. "Believe me, senor, I have had this man investigated very thoroughly," he said. "Especially after what happened to...well, there was an alarming incident, but he has kept himself very far from anything incriminating. If you have him, senor, then I am pleased I need not worry over him any further."

"You can tell me nothing more?"

The Spanish man shrugged dismissively. "I am afraid not," he answered, getting to his feet, "I apologize for the scene earlier. I am responsible for my sister's welfare, but she is strong willed and does not appreciate what I do for her." He heaved a sigh and shook his head. "I will worry over her until I can complete the negotiations and she is safe in a convent."

Reminded of the idea of Maria as a nun almost made Athos smile. "An odd choice for her future," he commented, rising as well. "She doesn't seem suited for it."

"It was our father's dying wish, and I gave my word I would secure my sister's safety. And I have hopes that the life will instruct her in her proper place as her marriage did not."

The idea of men being superior was not a new idea, but not one Athos necessarily agreed with. "Thank you for your time, Don Alejandro. Until we are certain that there isn't someone who will take Firmin's place, my companions and I can't leave for Paris."

Montoya nodded. "I understand. I wish I could be of more help."

With that, Athos took his leave. He caught sight of Maria watching from the stairs. He nodded respectfully as he went out the door.

* * *

><p>Giles was dead to the world when Athos looked in on the man. Returning to the tavern, Athos contemplated everything he'd learned as he drained a bottle of wine. When there was a stir at the door, he looked up. "D'Artagnan," he said, spotting the familiar form of the young man. There was blood on D'Artagnan's face, which brought Athos to his feet. "Are you all right? What happened?"<p>

"I'm fine," D'Artagnan responded, reaching a hand up to his left ear. Athos' eyes followed his movement, narrowing at the graze that was sluggishly oozing blood. "But Firmin...the shot came out of nowhere."

"Not here," Athos said, grabbing the young man's arm. He guided his friend away from the gawkers and up the stairs. "He's dead?"

D'Artagnan simply nodded. This time, as they entered, Giles stirred from sleep. "Let me have a look, boy," Athos said gruffly, pushing D'Artagnan to a bed. "Sit."

"There's no need to fuss," D'Artagnan objected, trying to get back up.

Firmly, Athos grabbed him by the back of the neck. "Hold still, D'Artagnan" he ordered. He dabbed at his bleeding ear with a cloth pulled from one of the saddlebags. "It may not be a bad wound, but its bleeding still. This was an incredible shot, wasn't it?"

"How do you figure that?" Giles asked. He crossed his arms and watched Athos clean the blood from D'Artagnan's ear. "How did this happen?"

"Two shots. One to take care of Firmin, and one to make a point," Athos responded.

Giles raised an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose this takes care of that problem," he commented. He shook his head. "Did you leave the body?"

"I didn't know what else to do," D'Artagnan said, flinching in pain. "You don't find it at all strange that we take Firmin into custody one evening and the very next day, someone kills him?"

"Firmin is the kind of man who would always have enemies."

Shaking his head, Athos finished cleaning up the blood on D'Artagnan's face. "I did find something when I searched for the shooter," D'Artagnan said, reaching for his pocket. He brought out an envelope and handed it to Athos. The seal had already been broken and inside was an elegant invitation. "Its for a ball."

"Does it matter? All we were sent to do was capture Firmin, but now he's dead," Giles pointed out.

"The ball will be tomorrow night," Athos said thoughtfully. "Whoever killed Firmin, perhaps his partner, will be there."

"Again, I ask, what concern is it of ours?" Giles wanted to know. "We don't even know who it is."

"But we do have a lead," Athos responded, looking up. "I came across Dońa Maria Esperanza de la Vega in the market today. She heard Firmin recieving information from a woman not very long ago. She may be able to identify the woman if she heard her again?"

D'Artagnan looked at him in surprise. "Would it be wise to include her in something like this?" Giles questioned. "Athos, she was under suspicion for being a spy. You do remember that don't you?"

"It wasn't proved," Athos responded dismissively.

"I'm not hearing this correctly, am I?" Giles protested. "Athos, you were the one-."

Turning, Athos leveled his gaze at the man. "Enough, Giles," he said sharply. "We are doing this, whether you like it or not."

* * *

><p>An hour later, the three musketeers were standing outside the Montoya home. Athos had already been to the front door, and had left a message for the woman, though he doubted it would actually reach the woman. On the chance that the woman would glance out and recognize them, they stood in plain view.<p>

Finally, D'Artagnan spotted a figure pause in one of the windows. Not long after, a small gate that undoubtedly led to the servants' entrance opened and a veiled figure appeared, gesturing to them. "Athos, " he said, getting the older man's attention.

Nodding, Athos led the way over. "What are you doing back here?" Maria demanded in a hushed voice as she allowed them into the garden. She was alone, and glanced around uneasily. "I have done all that I can for you, Athos."

"What do you know about this?" Athos asked, handing over the invitation.

Taking the item, Maria tried to study it, and then flipped her veil back to see better. D'Artagnan's eyes widened in shock. "What about it?" the marquesa queried, looking up with a frown. "It is a masked ball. My brother and his wife are attending."

"Armand Firmin was shot and killed," Athos told her. "Whoever did it, dropped that invitation."

"You think he'll be there?" Maria realized. "So, why have you come to me?"

"You've heard the woman's voice before."

Maria's hand went to her cheek. "Yes," she answered reluctantly. She took a step back. "No. Nonono! Athos. What you are thinking... it is not a good idea, Athos."

"You'll be as safe as anyone," Athos said. "You'll have a mask."

"That's not what I was concerned with," Maria snapped back. She shook her head, sighing. "You really are insane, aren't you? How on earth will you pull something like this off?"

"What exactly are you two talking about here?" D'Artagnan asked in confusion. "All you'd have to do is listen for the woman and then tell us who it is."

"Oh, you haven't even told them?" Maria asked incredulously.

Athos had an unfriendly smile on his face. "All of us are going to attend this party, D'Artagnan, and find Firmin's partner."

"What?" Giles and D'Artagnan said in unison.

Throwing her hands up in the air, Maria scowled at Athos. "Why would the man have this on him in the first place?" she demanded, pointing at the invitation. "He will realize he has lost it and will know better than to attend. It will be for nothing."

"You act like you're afraid."

She closed her mouth abruptly. "I don't know if I'm up for this kind of thing, Athos," D'Artagnan admitted. "Do I look like I'm fit to be in the company of nobles?"

"Its never stopped you before," Athos said, rousing himself. "Pretend a boredom with the world and you'll be fine."

"No, no. D'Artagnan has an excellent point," Maria responded, instantly. "You do not look like nobles. You do not act like nobles. You are warriors, Athos. You will bring disgrace on yourselves and the rest of the Musketeers because you will be noticed and you will have trouble."

Reaching over, Athos caught Maria's arms and held her in place. "Maria, you said you would help us," he said, meeting the woman's eyes. "This is how you can help, and prove your loyalty to your friends. If you don't, France will be in danger. Queen Anne will be in danger."

D'Artagnan waited for the protest as Maria's face twisted with conflict. "Fine," Maria said tightly. She jerked free. "For Anne. For my friends, I'll do what I can, and that's all I can promise, Athos. What do you need from me?"


	10. Spain, 1626 Part 3

The next morning, a shady looking man delivered a small chest of fancy clothes to the inn. When evening fell, the trio musketeers prepared for the ball. Of them all, only Athos seemed to have no problems with the elaborate dress, being the first one done.

Fidgeting in his stiff, uncomfortable outfit, D'Artagnan followed Athos and Giles out to the front of the inn. They ignored the incredulous looks sent in their direction by the passersby. "People wear these things on purpose?" the young man asked in disbelief. He held the gold mask up to his face. "This is ridiculous."

"We have an invitation to get in, but how are we going to get there?" Giles demanded, still out of favor with the whole idea.

"I imagine its been taken care of," Athos answered vaguely. He nodded towards the street.

An ornate carraige was coming towards them, a very old man driving. It stopped in front of them and a masked woman leaned out. "Well, you three clean up well," Maria commented, sounding resigned. The black half mask hide her the healing wound on her face. "I hope you know what you're doing, Athos, because I still think this is crazy."

"You and I are in agreement, madame," Giles answered immediately. He added grudgingly, "You judged our sizes very well."

"Its a talent," Maria answered dismissively. She gestured to the carraige. "Will this do, Athos? Or do your tastes go to something a bit more elaborate?"

Not answering, Athos studied the well built vehicle. He didn't recognize the crest on the door. "This isn't your brother's," he said.

"It was my husband's," Maria explained, pulling her head back in. "Well? Are we going or not?"

"For someone who didn't want to go in the first place, you're being a bit demanding," D'Artagnan remarked, taking advantage of being friends with two men who he presumed were her close friends. He was the first of the musketeers to climb in. He sat opposite of Maria. Giles took the seat next to him, leaving Athos to be beside the woman. "Don't you want to help us?"

"Of course I do!" Maria answered, a note of protest in her voice. She hesitated as she smoothed her scarlet red gown. "Its complicated."

"Un-complicate it," Athos advised as the carriage jolted forward.

The only way they knew she was frowning was from the look in her eyes. "Its not important," she finally said. She turned her eyes to the passing scenery. "I should not have come back to Spain. That's all."

"I thought you came back because your life was in danger in Paris," D'Artagnan commented.

"Yes, and sometimes it seems I would have been better off letting my husband's brother kill me."

Silence filled the carriage following that dark statement. Athos frowned at this very different Maria. Angry, he'd experienced for himself. Merry, he'd witnessed in her dealings with Porthos. Sad, he'd also seen. Witty came out when she spoke with Aramis. He could think of many adjectives to describe the Maria he'd come to know in Paris, but depressed was not one.

"That would have been a mistake," D'Artagnan said, breaking the silence. "Letting yourself die in Paris, I mean." He flushed as everyone looked at him. "Well, think about it. Aramis and Porthos would have both vowed revenge. They would have gone off and put themselves in danger, probably without getting leave from M. de Treville. They would have come back to no job, and been a thousand times worse than they were after you had to leave Paris."

Tilting her head, Maria studied him from behind her mask. "Worse? How were they when I left?" she asked in interest.

"Terrible! I'd never seen them so drunk, and that's saying something!" D'Artagnan answered emphatically. "I didn't think they'd ever snap out of it. And I don't think they have yet. They just go through the motions of life. Porthos has a new mistress and Aramis is talking about taking orders again."

"Is this true?" Maria asked, turning to Athos. "What D'Artagnan just said?"

Athos shrugged. "The boy never lies."

"Despite the fact that we see death on an almost daily basis, musketeers do not take the loss of a friend very well," Giles added.

Setting back in her seat, Maria seemed to consider this. "I didn't know," she finally said.

"You didn't ask."

* * *

><p>D'Artagnan and Giles were relieved to climb out of the carriage at their destination. "Well, are we ready for this?" Giles asked, looking resigned at the evening he was to spend. He grimaced at the noble guests that had arrived ahead of them.<p>

"Marquesa," Athos said formally, holding his arm out for her.

"Manners, Athos? I am astonished," Maria responded, putting her hand on his arm. "Who knew my drunk, fighting musketeers were so well trained?"

The musketeer almost smiled, reminded of the time Maria had said the musketeers were the only polite company she could get, despite having been informed all they did was drink and fight. "I assume you have noble names planned for tonight?" Maria asked as they neared the door. "Because the name de la Vega will not get you anywhere."

With an ease that pointed to experience, Athos flipped the invitation to the majordomo awho stood at the door. "Comte de la Fere and company," he said by way of explanation. With D'Artagnan and Giles on their heels, Athos escorted Maria in. "Is that good enough for you, Maria?"

There were over a hundred people milling about, talking in Spanish. "Why would my opinion matter to you now?" Maria asked, glancing around at the guests. "Athos, here comes my brother and his father in law."

She became silent, lowering her eyes to the ground. _**"Creo que no nos conocemos,"**_ the older man of the pair commented, his accent think. _**"¿Con quién tengo el placer?"**_

"I am the Comte de la Fere," Athos interrupted haughtily. "My son, and my companion, Comte de Chagny."

Montoya stared at him in open astonishment. Both D'Artagnan and Giles alternately sniggered and starred in astonishment. D'Artagnan at being claimed as Athos' son, and Giles at being christened by the name of the comte from their fall adventure in the country. They recovered themselves sufficiently to bow in greeting.

"Welcome to Spain, Comte. I am Don Fernando, the Conde de Marquez, and this is my son in law, the Duque de Montoya," the man said, his French almost beyond comprehension. "And your lovely companion is-?"

He frowned at the woman on Athos' arm. "I am told an associate of ours from France would be here," Athos said, ignoring the pointed question. "It was he who instructed us to meet here. I believe you are acquainted. His name is Armand Firmin."

"No, he will not be here."

"You are certain of this?" Athos asked.

Marquez scowled ever so slightly. "I am. If you will excuse me."

As the conde hurried away with Montoya glancing back, Athos looked at D'Artagnan. "Patrol the room," he ordered, keeping his voice low. "We must draw our target out without attracting attention. Giles, stay with him."

Nodding, Giles and D'Artagnan set off. "Now that was odd," Maria remarked, her tone thoughtful.

"You noticed it too?"

"If I wasn't so sure I heard a woman's voice, I would say that Marquez was the man you are searching for," Maria said. She reached one gloved hand out and snagged a glass of wine. "When my husband was killed, it was Marquez who took over the position of advisor to the king. It was his nephew and great niece who escorted me to Paris last year."

Appropriating his own glass, Athos set off to walk around the room, Maria on his arm. Some time passed, with Maria doing talking and Athos keeping his eyes on the gathered company for any suspicious movements. "Athos?" Maria said uneasily. The musketeer glanced at her. "Where has D'Artagnan and Giles gone?"

* * *

><p>It hadn't taken D'Artagnan long to grow tired of the whole thing. "This isn't going to work," he said to Giles as they refiled their glass. "There are too many people here."<p>

"I tried to tell Athos," Giles said, shaking his head. "I didn't realize he and the Marquessa were such friends."

"It happened unexpectedly, I think," D'Artagnan answered. He shot the other man a questioning look. "Why do you look so worried?"

Giles frowned. "You forget I've been around for longer than you have, D'Artagnan," he said, his tone fatherly. "I saw what happened the last time Athos let a woman befriend him. It will destroy him if it happens again."

D'Artagnan shook his head in alarm. "No way," he said. "I know its not like that between Athos and Maria. She's made it clear to Aramis and Porthos that she still loves her husband. I've never seen any woman resist their charms before."

"I suppose that's what makes her so interesting to them."

The young musketeer did not like the way this conversation was going. He was relieved when Conde de Marquez approached. "I would like a word with you two," the Spaniard said confidingly. "In private. I believe I know what you are looking for here."

Surprised and a bit suspicious, Giles nodded, setting his glass down. He and D'Artagnan followed the conde into an empty hallway. "You are looking for Senor Firmin's partner, are you not?" Marquez asked over his shoulder. "I regret to inform you that any proof of the man having such a partner is being taken very far away."

"How did you come by that information?" D'Artagnan demanded suspiciously, coming to a stop. He did not like the feel of the situation.

"My daughter," Marquez responded, turning around to face them. "I have my children very well trained. They know the value of information. She overheard your father speaking to Montoya, and she relayed the conversation to me."

Feeling uneasy, D'Artagnan took a slight step back. "It was your son and granddaughter who escorted Mari- Marquesa de Molin to Paris," he realized.

"My nephew, actually, and in doing so was the most useful he has ever been to the family," Marquez answered easily. "I had advised the king that we needed to be certain the woman was not going to run to England. She can be a very troublesome person for being a woman, as I'm sure you've come to realize for yourself."

Instinctively, D'Artagnan moved his hand to where his sword normally hung. He curled his hand into a fist as he remembered having to leave it behind at the inn. "Well, now I know why Maria wasn't thrilled about coming tonight," he commented.

Marquez frowned. "Ah, your father's companion," he said, nodding a moment later as though he understood. Despite the grave situation he found himself, D'Artagnan couldn't help a smirk over the fact that the man was still under the impression that he was Athos' son. "I wondered if it was Dońa Esperanza was hiding behind that mask."

"Surely you don't plan on killing us here," Giles said, gesturing at the hallway. "Your guests would hear and how would explain murder to so many witnesses?"

The conde spread his arms in a gesture of innocence. "Over the music and talking, no one will hear a thing," he said, as calm as ever. "You have no one to run to, even if you were to escape my men. I will merely say you were theives and no one will think twice about the manner with which I dealt with you."

As the man spoke, five armed thugs came out of one of the rooms behind the two unarmed musketeers. "Remove them," Marquez ordered.

Turning, D'Artagnan and Giles faced the thugs. The five men had swords in hand, with daggers and pistols in their belts. "How do you want to do this?" D'Artagnan asked in a low voice.

"How about we attack them and hope for the best," Giles responded.

"Sadly, I think that's the best option."

Behind the thugs, Athos stepped into the hallway, sword in hand. "Gentlemen," he said.

Startled at the new addition, more than half of the thugs turned. Athos lunged forward, his sword slashing. At the same time, Giles and D'Artagnan threw themselves at the ungaurded backs of the thugs. "This works just as well as a plan," Giles commented, bringing his arm around one of the men's neck.

Dodging the slash of a blade, D'Artagnan wondered where Maria had gotten herself.

* * *

><p>A masked woman dressed in gold strode along the hallway, her steps quick. Maria stepped in front of her, making her come to an abrupt halt. "Leaving the party so soon?" the Spanish woman asked. "It is far to early!"<p>

Dropping her ornate mask, Milady de Winter regarded the Spanish woman. "The company was becoming such a bore, which I'm sure you can understand better than most," she responded, her tone light. "I don't believe we've met, have we? But, I have a guess. You're the Marquesa de la Vega, are you not?"

"And you are one of Armand Firmin's sources of information," Maria responded, her tone equally as pleasant.

Milady laughed lightly. "My, you are very unlike other Spanish women, aren't you?" she commented. "Its not often I find a woman who uses her mind to survive in this world."

"Nor I one who kills to get what she wants."

Instantly, Milady's smile faded. "Now who has been telling such tales on me? I know it isn't Firmin. While he thinks he's so clever, he really isn't. And Marquez is equally as blind."

"My husband was murdered nearly two years ago by a woman who then stole important documents from him," Maria informed her, her tone becoming tinged with anger. "The name de la Vega means nothing to you now?"

"De la Vega?" Milady repeated in puzzlement. "Ah, yes. Now I remember. He once held the trust of the king of Spain. A pity he wouldn't agree to work with me. You do understand that I had to have those papers, don't you? He should not have tried to stop me."

Maria stepped forward. "You took my husband from me."

"My dear, I merely spared you the agony of learning that men are fools and will turn on you in an instant," Milady told her coldly. She began to move forward. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must take my leave of this country."

Sidestepping, Maria cut her off. "No," she said contemplatively. "I think I will call for the French Musketeers and they will come deal with you. I think I would like to see you in a cell for what you have done."

For a moment, Milady looked startled. "Oh, are the Musketeers in Madrid?" she asked, recovering herself. "How diverting! I'm shocked that after what happened the last time a group of them left France, the king would dare send them into another country."

"Perhaps because you are not with them this time, it was deemed safe to send them."

Milady frowned at her. "I must say, you know quite a lot, my dear Dońa Esperanza," she said, her tone slightly unnerved. "More than I would expect from someone in your position."

"My position?"

"Well, you are a widow, which is not the best position for a woman in Spain," Milady responded, becoming sure of herself once again. "Here you are without your duena. Should you be spotted, your reputation will be ruined."

Maria laughed, reaching up to her mask. "You think my reputation is worth anything now?" she asked, pulling the mask from her face. "My brother is already taking steps to lock me away in a convent. Tell me what else I have to lose?"

The other woman took a step forward, looking cautious. "You have felt the costs that can be exacted in this game, I see. Perhaps you do not have anything to lose, but what about the musketeers?" Milady questioned. "If I were to give the word, they would be labeled as French spies. They would bring dishonor on their country once again, and would they be able to recover from that?"

"And a similar word from me would have you on the executioner's block for murder."

"A bargain then."

Again, Maria laughed. "You think you have something I would value enough to let my husband's murderer for free?"

"I think that you are a woman who can see an oportunity when she sees it, and who will not allow the past to stain her future," Milady responded. She reached into her sleeve and drew a handful of letters out. "The musketeers desire proof of Firmin's partner, do they not? I believe they would find these of great use in that."

Glancing at the letters, Maria frowned. "And what would be the catch?"

"I go free, and you say nothing of my identity to the musketeers."

For a moment, Maria hesitated. "I accept your terms," she answered, holding her hand out.

Stepping forward, Milady put herself inches from Maria. She put the letters in the Spanish woman's hand, but did not let go. Without a word, they both made careful steps until Milady's back was to the door she'd been going towards.

"Thank you, Esperanza," Milady said, releasing her hold on the letters. "It has been a most enlightening meeting."

"One day, you will face justice for what you have done," Maria promised.

Milady laughed, backing up several steps. "I believe you must join a long list of men who have already made such statements and promises," she informed the woman. "Run back to your protection, now. It would never do to hold the information the musketeers need and fail to get it to them in time to be of any use."

At the same time, Milady turned to the door and Maria spun to find the musketeers. They hurried on their separate ways.

* * *

><p>Stabbed by Athos' sword, the first of the thugs hit the ground. These men were even more well trained than the Cardinal's guards, making them a much harder opponent, and maneuvering in the tight space was difficult. D'Artagnan managed to snatch up the thug's sword in time to block an attack aimed at his throat.<p>

"Kill them!" the conde ordered, his tone furious. "I want them dead!"

With two blades on the musketeer's side now, the odds began to even themselves out with another thug hitting the ground. Scowling in displeasure, Marquez turned to make his escape. His son in law appeared at the far side of the hallway, and the conde called out, "Thieves, Alejandro! Call for help, quickly!"

Quick stabs brought down the last of Marquez's men. Looking grim, Montoya strode towards the group. In his hand were papers. "Perhaps, you would care to explain these," he said, holding the papers up. Visibly, Marquez looked startled. "You are named in several contracts that would have overthrown not only the French king but our king as well!"

Breathing heavily, D'Artagnan looked over at Athos for explanation, but the older musketeer looked just as puzzled by the turn of events. "And not only that, you arranged for my sister's husband to be murdered in order that you may take his place in court!" Montoya continued in outrage.

"Now, Alejandro, I can explain," Marquez began to placate. "These are obvious forgeries."

"You sent a man to torture my sister!" Montoya spat as armed men filed in. He pointed to his father in law. "Take him to the palace. The king will hear this."

Protesting and shouting in Spanish, Marquez struggled against the men who grabbed him. Athos, D'Artagnan, and Giles stepped aside to let them pass. D'Artagnan sent a mock salute at the man with a cocky grin, resulting in multiple Spanish curses being sent in his direction.

"Thank you for what you have done," Montoya said to the musketeers. He selected a single sheet from the bundle he held. "I believe you will find good use for this."

Accepting the paper, Athos scanned the writing and his eyebrows went up. "Our captain will be very interested to see this," he agreed.

Montoya offered his hand. "I must take care of this business," he said. "Please excuse me."

He hurried after his prisoner. "We should go before we attract attention," Giles suggested as guests from the ball could be heard coming in their direction. "You lost your partner, Athos."

Making no response to that, Athos led the way out. The carriage was already waiting for them, and Maria was inside. Her mask was off, and she brushed at her eyes. "I take it you were successful?" she asked, clearing her throat.

Athos eyed her. "I believe you had a hand in that."

The woman smiled. "I may have run into a woman with some very...unsavory associates."

"Who is she?" Athos demanded.

Maria shook her head. "I do not know," she answered honestly. Athos frowned, unsatisfied. "She is no one I have seen before, though she was the one to take my husband's life. She and I struck a bargain. Her freedom for the papers needed to motivate my brother into action. I managed to hand the papers to my brother and the matter took its natural course."

"You let your husband's murderer get away?" D'Artagnan asked incredulously.

"A necessary sacrifice."

"I think this calls for a bottle of Spain's finest wine," Giles said enthusiastically. "We can finally return to France."

D'Artagnan laughed. "It can't come soon enough for me!"

"What will you do?" Athos asked Maria.

The woman sighed. "I will return to my brother's house," she answered. "In Spain, a woman has no rights except those granted her by her husband. I am a widow, and so am under my brother's...control. He will send me to convent, and I will lead a quiet life away from the intrigue and danger of court."

The inside of the carriage became very quiet.

* * *

><p>The tavern beneath the inn was loud with patrons when the carriage pulled up in front of them. Giles said a gruff farewell to the marquesa and was the first to get out. Gallantly, D'Artagnan managed a bow in his seat and offered his best wishes for the woman's future. He joined Giles.<p>

"Thank you, Athos," Maria said softly. "For giving me something to do."

"Thank you for assisting," Athos responded. He reached over and took Maria's right hand. He brought it to his lips in a formal gesture. "You do realize that I was serious when I said Porthos or Aramis would offer you the complete opposite life from that of a nun."

Maria laughed. "Yes, I'm sure you were," she said. "Athos, the name you gave Don Fernando tonight. The Comte de la Fere. That wasn't a fake name, was it?"

"Farewell, Dońa Maria."

Athos exited the carraige without answering her question. The carriage set off once again. "I for one, am getting out of this ridiculous outfit," D'Artagnan said, already tugging at the clothing.

"I'll call for the wine," Giles offered.

"I'll find a table," Athos said.

* * *

><p>Two weeks later, the trio were back in Paris. Athos handed over the incriminating letter that named a high ranking French noble who had joined the pact to take down the king, also reporting the events of what had happened in Madrid. Treville promised to take it up with the king, swearing all three musketeers to secrecy on the whole mission.<p>

Having discovered nothing on their end, Porthos and Aramis were pleased to have their friends back without injury. Porthos spent many hours attempting to learn what had happened and where they had gone, until Athos threatened a duel.

Another three weeks passed without anything of note happening. As is usually the case, though, that all changed very quickly.

"You should be glad that this hasn't gotten to the king yet!"

M. de Treville called those words after the departing trio. A new recruit looked slightly scared to be going in after them. Athos brushed at his still bleeding nose. "I told you not to go into that tavern," Aramis complained, to no one in particular.

"Let's just get home before that storm hits," Athos answered irritably.

"Who's going to go get the boy out of the physician's clutches?" Porthos asked. "He should have woken by now."

They all looked at each other, each one bedraggled from the fight with the tavern drunks. "All right, I will," Aramis said with a sigh, giving in first. "You two better have his horse ready because I am not carrying him the whole way there."

Athos sent a glare at the other musketeers who were in training around the hall, causing all of them to look away. "I ripped my new cloak," Porthos complained, walking out the front door. He was examining the long rend in the rich brown fabric. "Do you have any idea how much this kind of quality garment costs?"

"You're independently wealthy, remember? You'll get over it," Athos answered sharply.

Huffing, Porthos let the offending piece of clothing fall back into place. His attention went to the simple carriage that had pulled up in front of the Musketeer Headquarters. A servant stepped out of the vehicle, and studied the building with curiosity.

A frown wrinkled Porthos' brow. "Well, that's very odd," he said. "You there! What is your business here?"

The middle aged man came forward. "I am seeking Monsieur Aramis, Monsieur Porthos, Monsieur Athos, and a Monsieur D'Artagnan," he announced. "Could you point me in their direction?"

"I am Athos, and this is Porthos," the dark ahired musketeer said. "What is your business with us?"

With a low bow, the servant held out a sealed paper. "My master, Monsieur Mandeville, requests the honor of your presence at his table tonight," he announced.

Raising his eyebrows, Athos broke the seal and scanned the written invitation. "Please inform your master we would be honored to attend," he answered.

Bowing, the servant retreated back to the carriage and left. "Who is this Mandeville fellow?" Porthos asked.

"I've never met him," Athos answered as Aramis supported D'Artagnan out of Musketeer Headquarters.

"What's going on?" Aramis questioned.

"Athos has accepted a dinner invitation on behalf of us all," Porthos responded. "With a Monsieur Mandeville."

All three of them looked at the youngest member of their company. D'Artagnan lifted his head. "What?" he asked, barely conscious. His face was swollen and bruised from the fight.

His friends exchanged looks. "We'll leave him with Planchet."

* * *

><p>At the appointed hour, the three friends presented themselves at the address written on the invitation. Porthos was dressed in one of his fanciest outfits, though minus his favored cloak that had been ruined that day. Aramis and Athos were also dressed better than usual, and all three were curious at the sudden invitation.<p>

The same servant that had delivered the invitation opened the door of the modest sized home. He then led the three musketeers through the house to the gallery, where his master was apparently waiting for them.

The gallery was perhaps the largest room in the house, by Aramis' estimation. "Ah, you're here!" the aged man who stood at the far side said. He came towards them, his hand out stretched. "I can't tell you how pleased I am that you could make it. I have wanted to make your acquaintance for some time now."

"I am Athos, and this Aramis and Porthos," Athos said, making the introductions.

"Thank you for your invitation," Aramis added.

"For three men who have done so much for this country, and indirectly, myself, a small meal seems the least I can do," M. Mandeville said, looking them over. His dark eyes were sparkling with good humor. "I see you are exactly as you were described to me."

Athos frowned. "Described by whom, exactly?" he questioned.

"Where did you get that painting?" Porthos demanded abruptly, his tone furious.

Turning, Mandeville looked at the wall, while Aramis and Athos followed their friend's stare. One of the largest paintings in the gallery was of a woman. A gentle smile graced her lips, and the painter had caught the light of mischief in her dark eyes. It was of Maria.

"When the king of Spain took hold of the belongings of Don Ramon de la Vega, Marques de Molin, he was gracious enough to allow me to keep this when I made the request," Mandeville responded, facing the musketeers. "The thought that it could end up in the hands of a stranger was too repugnant to me."

Aramis' hands had clenched. "And what right did you have to the painting?"

Mandeville frowned, and then his eyes widened. He laughed and held his hands up in a placating manner. "Gentlemen, you have gotten the wrong idea!" he protested. "The young lady shown in the painting is my niece."

"You're Dońa Maria's uncle?" Athos asked suspiciously.

"I am," Mandeville answered. "That is how I heard of you, and the many kind acts you have done for my dear niece. I do not have any children of my own, and my only sister's daughter is a daughter to me."

Porthos frowned, his anger dissipating. "You're French."

The older man nodded. "I can understand the confusion," he said. "My sister was merely my half sister, but we were very fond of each other. Now, shall we have a drink before the meal?"

"I could use one," Athos said emphatically.

Their host led them to a library. "My apologies for the misunderstanding," Mandeville said as he poured wine for them all. "I must tell you, I should have expected such a reaction. Maria said you all were very gallant protectors of her honor and reputation."

"Porthos once attempted to duel me over her honor," Aramis said, remembering the incident with a grin.

"Aramis, I don't think M. Mandeville needs to know the circumstances of that occasion," Porthos pointed out quickly.

Mandeville chuckled. "She told me," he assured them. "In fact, my niece has related everything that occurred when she was in Paris last year. I only wish I had been in the city then, but I was off on business trips. I only just returned from Madrid."

"Was she well when you last saw her?" Aramis asked. "We have heard nothing from her since she left Paris."

"Now, you aren't going to hold that against me, are you, Aramis? It was hardly my fault that my letters were being -oh, what is that word?- confiscated?"

Delighted, Mandeville laughed at the shocked looks on all three musketeers' faces. Porthos was the first to spin around. Still dressed in black, Maria stood in the doorway. Smiling broadly, she held her hands out. "Porthos!" she exclaimed, her tone merry. "Surprise!"

With a laugh, Porthos moved to her quickly. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground. The woman laughed, but made no protest to the unconventional greeting. "What are you doing back in Paris?" Porthos demanded when he set her down a few moments later. He reached a hand to her cheek. "What happened to you? Who did this?"

Instantly, Maria slapped his hand away. "Its nothing, Porthos," she answered. She grabbed his arms in a pretense of keeping him still. "Let me look at you! You haven't changed a bit! But what's this I hear about you having a new mistress?"

Porthos sent a horrified look at Athos, who had joined them at a much slower pace. "Its nothing serious," he protested. "Now that you're back in Paris, I mean."

That earned him a glare. "Porthos! I'm ashamed of you!" Maria scolded. "For a woman to be your object of affection for this long makes it serious!" She turned and held her hands out again. Formally, Aramis took both her hands, bowed over them, and then kissed the back of her right hand. "Aramis! I hear you are to be a priest again."

"You haven't answered the question," Athos pointed out. "What are you doing back in Paris?"

To his surprise, Maria turned to face him and curtsied low in a formal greeting. "I couldn't stay away a moment longer," she responded, keeping her tone light. She held her hand out. As he took it, Athos saw the grief that still lurked in her eyes. "And, I decided that a convent really wasn't where I wished to spend the rest of my life."

"A nun?" Aramis asked, raising an eyebrow at her. "What's this? A sudden interest in religion?"

"My father's last wishes, and my brother's easy way of dealing with a stubborn sister," Maria answered lightly. She smiled over at her uncle. "Uncle Algier took pity on me, and brought me with him."

"I could never deny her anything," Mandeville declared with a laugh.

"But, who did this to you?" Porthos demanded, studying the scar on her face. "Tell me that I may hunt the scoundrel down."

Athos rolled his eyes. "The man is already dead, Porthos," he said.

As one, Aramis and Porthos turned to him. "You knew about this already?" Aramis asked, in a tone of deadly calm.

"And you didn't say anything?" Porthos added.

"You were in Madrid."

"And you didn't say anything."

Mandeville began to laugh again. "My dear, I believe they are about to duel," he said. "Shall we find a way to dissuade them, or have entertainment during our meal?"

"Who am I to interfere with a gentleman's duel?" Maria asked in mock horror. She began to walk to the door. "I, for one, shall simply go to the dining table. If any of you gentlemen care to join me for the meal, well, I will be very glad of your company."

In an instant, Aramis and Porthos abandoned Athos and caught up to her. "Its too bad she can never join a court again," Mandeville commented to Athos, suddenly very serious. "I was appalled when I saw what had happened to her face."

"Is that why you brought her to Paris?" Athos asked.

"I believe you know her situation. Spain has too many bad memories for her. Here, she will have freedom."

"Uncle, are you joining us?" Maria called back.

Shaking his head, Mandeville walked out of the library with Athos close behind. "You did good work in Madrid, Monsieur Athos," Mandeville said, speaking in a low voice. "After the meal, I would like to speak to you regarding a few of the papers uncovered that I desire to be conveyed to Treville."

"The comte de Chagny has already been dealt with," Athos said, refering to the name listed in the letter Montoya had handed him in Madrid.

Mandeville shook his head again. "The conspiracy goes further than that," he confided. Athos glanced at him, not very surprised by the news. "I advised the late king, and often had council with Treville. This matter needs to be brought to a halt soon."

"I will relay any information to M. de Treville," Athos promised. "You can trust the Musketeers."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Cue dramatic music. Hope you enjoyed!**_


	11. Summer, 1626 Part 1

_**A/N: I honestly never expected for this to be an ongoing story with so many different arches in it, and I blame the musketeers for providing continuing inspiration. They're going to regret it in this one. **_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

><p>Kneeling in front of the new grave, Adolphe Beauchene put his hand on the small stone that marked where his only son was buried. "I will get justice for you, Dion, if its the last thing I do on this earth," he swore, moving his hand to the gold cross that hung at his neck. "The men who killed you have not long in this world."<p>

"You must let me know if he answers you. I've always wanted to meet a ghost."

His face hardening, Beauchene straightened and turned to face the man he'd arranged to meet. "You're late, Artus," he said, his tone filled with cold disdain. The raggedly dressed man just grinned in answer. "Have you news?"

Artus' grin widened. "Paris suffers in the heat," he said, pushing the brim of his hat back to catch the sun's rays on his face. Though sweat beaded on his face, he didn't seem at all inconvenienced by the tempeture. "It won't be long before the nobles flee like the weak men and women that they are. The man you seek will be vulnerable then."

"Good to know I'm not paying you for nothing."

"My men are keeping watch, and will come the moment the court makes plans to leave."

Beauchene nodded. "Good. I want to see the musketeers crumble for what they have done to my family."

* * *

><p>"When will this heat end?"<p>

Already irritated, Aramis sent a less than patient look at his companion. "D'Artagnan, surely you are more accustomed to this kind of heat," he pointed out. He focused on the street they were walking down, where the houses were of finer quality. "And even then, complaining about won't make it any easier to deal with."

Suddenly, the peaceful street in front of the two musketeers was disturbed by a man who came stumbling out onto the cobblestones from the direction of one of the homes. He landed in a heap, his musketeer's outfit in a disarray that would have brought M. de Treville's wrath down on him in an instant if he'd been there to see it.

"And don't come back until you learn some manners!" came the angry shout from the house. There was no mistaking the owner of the voice.

"Well, I see Porthos is already here," D'Artagnan commented, not sparing his fellow musketeer another look as the poor man struggled to get to his feet. "Why am I not surprised?"

Since his arrival in Paris, Monsieur Algier Mandeville had opened his home to a privileged few. Where some homes were the gathering places of philosophers and politicians, the Mandeville house was for those whose full support was with the king and France. Treville was a constant visitor, along with the four _Inseparables_.

Having spoken with the man, Aramis, Porthos, and Athos were among the few who knew the reasoning behind the move. One of which directly concerned Doña Maria Esperanza de la Vega. _"My niece has made enemies, through no fault of her own," _the woman's uncle had said to the musketeers._ "I will not always be here for her, as I have not been able to protect her in the past. I prefer to have allies who are in a position to protect her."_

"_How can you be so sure that the Musketeers will do so?"_

Mandeville had smiled._ "Because you have already protected her. Maria's loyalty will always be with her friends, especially the queen. The queen's loyalty is with the king. The musketeers' loyalty is also with Louis. Other nobles will bend with whoever is in power. You can understand why I choose to encourage the musketeers in my household?"_

Shaking his head, Aramis pulled his thoughts from the conversation that had occurred only a few weeks before. "You know Porthos will take advantage of any kind of free drink," he said as he and his young friend walked towards the front door, which had already closed. "Planchet is always happy for any relief from providing wine."

A young nobleman bowed as they passed him on the threshold. The Mandeville house drew all who had deep loyalty to the king. At the same time, Aramis knew that there were those who were against King Louis who made attempts to learn information from the gatherings. Each man admitted into the house needed a recommendation from an already accepted guest, not an easy thing to acquire.

"So, Athos will be here as well?" D'Artagnan asked.

"I would imagine." While they all had a taste for quality wine, Athos was the one who indulged the most. Perhaps because he had many more demons in his past that he tried to escape, but Aramis couldn't say that was so with any certainty. "Who would pass up the opportunity to enjoy good Spanish wine?"

D'Artagnan sent him a look that said he wasn't convinced. "Then, the company of Dońa Maria has nothing to do with it at all?"

"What are you trying to imply?" Aramis asked, reaching out and stopping his young friend in the foyer.

Predictably, D'Artagnan became embarrassed. "Nothing."

"Where have you two been?" Porthos asked, appearing in a doorway with a glass of wine. "Giles is trying to outwit some noble at chess."

Swiftly, D'Artagnan got free of Aramis' grasp and hastened to join the largest of his friends. "I'm assuming there was there a reason you threw Delancy out," Aramis remarked, turning his attention to one of his closest friends. "The poor man looked a little worse for wear."

Porthos snorted. "Then, he should learn to hold his drink better, or not speak at all," he responded. "He referred to a lady of my acquaintance as a scarred, used woman, therefore, I showed him the way off the property. It was because he was under the influence of drink that I allowed him to keep his life. For now."

D'Artagnan flinched and followed Porthos in to join the others that were there. Shaking his head, Aramis continued on his way, bypassing the rooms where his comrades were enjoying themselves. The ever organized manservant who essentially ran the house, Wadsworth, directed him towards the garden where Mandeville was.

When he stepped back out into the harsh sunlight, Aramis could see that even in the sheltered garden, the heat was taking its toll. The flowers and plants that had been carefully cultivated were withering. Even so, there was the slightest of breezes that made it a bit more bearable than within the grand house.

Mandeville was not alone in the garden. Dońa Maria was sitting on a bench against the wall so that she was out of the sun. For the first time in nearly a year, she was not dressed in black but in a pale blue gown. There was a book in her lap, though she wasn't reading it. It seemed as though she was in the middle of a heated discussion with her uncle for she was pointing emphatically as she spoke, and the older man had his hands up in a placating manner.

Deciding that it would be better to come back later, when it would certainly be safer, Aramis to go back a step. He inadvertently brushed against a plant, and the dry leaves made a crunching sound. Maria turned her head and spotted him.

"Uncle, you have a visitor," she announced, getting to her feet. There was an unmistakable note of coldness that lingered in her voice. "Aramis is here."

"Monsieur. Maria," Aramis greeted, forcing himself to move forward. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

A broad smile appearing, Mandeville came forward, holding his hand out. "Not at all, my friend. I am always pleased to see you hear," he said. "Was that Porthos I heard a few moments ago?"

"Porthos took it upon himself to deal with an insulting guest," Aramis responded, sending a glance towards Maria. Though the woman had kept her distance from her uncle's guests, it had gotten around very quickly about the state of her face. Aramis himself had put several thoughtless men in their place when they had been foolish enough to say something of the matter in front of him.

Mandeville didn't seem at all concerned with the answer. "I appreciate the diligence with which he, and the rest of you, perform such acts," he stated. He turned towards his niece.

The woman unfurled her fan with a sharp snap that spoke volumes of her mood. "Let me guess," she said, waving the fan with angry energy. Her dark eyes were glittering with barely controlled irritation. "This is the moment when I am asked to return to the suffocating heat of the house and leave the men to their business."

"I was merely going to ask that you remember your manners and greet our friend, Pera," Mandeville informed her, his tone calm. "Whatever irritation you have towards me, it is not right to direct it at a poor musketeer just off his watch."

Aramis glanced between them, amused at the pet name the man had for the woman. Maria's fan closed with another snap that drove his amusement away. "Forgive me, Aramis. I am not in humor with the world today," was all that Maria said, every word insincere.

"Monsieur Mandeville, there is a messenger here for you," Wadsworth called from the door.

"Business calls," Mandeville said with a sigh. "Please excuse me."

Stepping aside, Aramis allowed the older man to pass and then he was left alone in the garden with Maria. The woman had turned and walked to a fountain that was devoid of any water. Slowly, Aramis followed her there. "If you would rather not have any company at the moment, DoñaMaria, I can leave," he told her.

Heaving a sigh, Maria took a seat on the edge of the fountain and placed her book by her side. "No, its fine, Aramis," she responded, turning her gaze to the sky. There was still an edge of irritation in her voice. "Was your watch uneventful today?"

"I don't think you really want to hear about a boring watch." Raising a hand to her head, Maria was silent for a moment. Aramis carefully took a seat next to her. "What is it, Maria?"

The woman let her hand drop, and Aramis realized that she'd been covering the scar that marred her face. Whether it was from the heat or from her heated emotions, the scar was an angry red. A moment later, Maria turned her head as if she'd seen Aramis looking. The musketeer grimaced, knowing he'd just made a mistake.

"My uncle wants to send me out of the city," was all Maria said, though.

"Any particular reason why?" Aramis asked with a frown. Mandeville had visited the Musketeers' Headquarters only a week before to discuss the possibility of traitors to the king. Athos had pointed out that the man was making himself a target by such open allegiance to Louis. Perhaps the older man had taken their words seriously and was at least getting Maria to safety...

"He is unsettled by the rumors that there is a sickness spreading."

Or perhaps not. Aramis considered this new bit of information. "I have heard that many are succumbing to the heat," he said. "But not that there was any sort of illness."

Her eyebrow raised, Maria finally looked straight at him. "Fifty men, women, and children have died in the past three days, Aramis," she informed him, her tone slightly chiding. "Its in the poorer sections of the city, but my uncle fears that it will spread into the more noble houses if this heat continues for much longer."

She unfurled her fan, this time much more gently, and began to wave it in front of her face. "If he feels you would be safer-," Aramis began to say.

"Safer?" Maria interrupted. "Aramis, how will leaving my protectors behind make things any safer?"

His frown creasing his forehead even more, Aramis leaned forward. "Are you afraid that harm would come to you if you were to leave Paris?" he asked. The fact that Maria shifted her gaze away told him that he had spoken true but he couldn't think of single reason she would have such a fear. "Why? Have you been threatened?"

Ever since she had returned to Paris, Aramis had seen a change in the woman. Her initial manner had faded into a reticence that didn't fit the spirited woman he'd come to know. Whatever had happened in Spain, the incident that had left her scarred, had never been fully explained to him. Athos had stated that the matter 'was of the utmost secrecy' and that he'd been forbidden to speak a word of it to anyone.

A ghost of a smile had appeared on Maria's lips. "I hardly fear for myself, Aramis," she responded, forcing a lightness into her tone that Aramis knew was not as sincere as she would have him think. "Just think of the trouble you and Athos and Porthos would get into if I were to leave you here? I could hardly do that to poor Treville."

"Maria, don't try to convince me that you're all right," Aramis told her. He reached over and took her hand in his. "I can see that you're not."

"Paris is the only place I have ever felt as though I were completely safe," the woman whispered, just loudly enough for him to hear. "My uncle is right: I have enemies. My husband had enemies. They will take any chance they can get to kill me." She hesitated and then shook her head. "Its silly."

Feeling as though there was still something she wasn't telling him, Aramis regarded her with concern. "Have you even left this property since you came back?" he asked abruptly. He understood that she wouldn't be at court, but he'd only ever seen her in this garden or in the house. Never exploring the city as she used to do.

Maria was on her feet in an instant, pulling her hand free. "Why do you question me like this?" she demanded. "Why can you not leave me in peace, Aramis?"

"Because you are not at peace, Maria," the former priest responded gently, "and you are not yourself. The Maria I know would be thrilled to return to the country, whatever the reason. She would be longing to take her shoes and stockings off to wade in a stream like a child. Did you think I had forgotten that?"

Closing her eyes, Maria went very still. "I'd forgotten I'd told you about that," she admitted, sounding vulnerable. "I know I am not..." She opened her eyes as she struggled to find the words. "Please just let me be, Aramis. All I need is time."

"Maybe if you told me of the demons that haunt you, it would be easier to continue on with your life."

At that moment, Mandeville returned to the garden. "The king has terrible timing," he announced, not seeming to notice that his niece and Aramis were in the middle of a discussion. Just barely keeping from sighing, the musketeer got to his feet. "I have been asked -no, ordered- to accompany the court to the country."

Casting a quick glance at Maria, Aramis nodded. "I'd heard rumors that the court would be seeking the cooler air of the country," he answered. "Given the queen's condition, the heat may be too much for her."

"You see, Perita, now you have no choice," Mandeville said to his niece.

Maria's chin came up. "I am no longer a member of the court, uncle," she responded. Once again, her fan snapped out. "And I will not be leaving Paris."

Raising an eyebrow, Mandeville watched the woman stalk out of the garden. "I'd hoped you might improve her mood," he confided to Aramis.

"When I have no clue as to what is wrong, how can I be expected to help?" Aramis asked.

Mandeville scoffed. "I should think it obvious," he responded. "You've seen what Firmin had done to her face." Aramis went very, very still. "It was a traumatic experience, and she will never be able to reclaim what she once had. She may not speak of it, but I know Maria still has nightmares about the incident."

"Armand Firmin," Aramis repeated. His hand clenched into a tight fist. "Was in Spain?"

"I assumed you were aware of the circumstances," Mandeville said with a frown. "I didn't think Athos would keep it from you. My apologies. I would not have said a word if I had known it was a secret."

"Rest assured, I do not blame you, monsieur." Aramis' words were completely sincere. He knew exactly who would be held responsible.

* * *

><p>"Athos, I thought you would have been here hours ago," Porthos said cheerfully as his friend entered the room. He held out a glass of wine. As Athos accepted the glass, Porthos studied the expression on the man's face. "I know that look. Trouble?"<p>

Without answering, Athos drained the glass and held it out to be filled once more. "Several of the men have fallen ill," he said once he'd swallowed the second glass.

"Ill?" D'Artagnan repeated, scrambling up. The other musketeers in the room murmured in unease and concern. "Will they recover?"

"A physician has been sent for," Athos responded. "But it looks as though it is the illness that is spreading in the seedier sections of Paris. The king has ordered the court to the country. The palace leaves the day after tomorrow."

Groaning, Porthos put his glass on the closest table. "Well doesn't that ruin a perfectly good day," he said with a sigh. "I'll start packing."

Stepping closer, Athos lowered his voice so that only the large man and D'Artagnan could hear him. "No," Athos told them. "Porthos, you and Aramis will remain here in Paris. You both have some experience with caring for the sick and we cannot leave Paris completely undefended. Treville will remain behind as he is waiting for some important dispatches. I have been charged with escorting the king."

"There couldn't be a better replacement for Treville," Porthos said enthusiastically.

"Athos!"

At Aramis' voice, Athos looked up. The former priest coming towards him with a look of fury in his eyes. "Aramis, good," Athos said in an attempt to head off whatever confrontation his friend was looking for. "There's much that needs to be discussed-."

Aramis grabbed Athos' jacket and jerked the man out of the room. Exchanging looks, D'Artagnan and Porthos rushed after the pair. The rest of the men in the room wisely turned their attention elsewhere.

"When were you going to tell us that it was Armand Firmin who harmed Maria?" Aramis demanded, his voice a hiss.

D'Artagnan flinched, already seeing where this conversation was going. Beside him, Porthos had tensed. Annoyed, Athos jerked free of the other man's grasp. "You didn't need to know," he responded. "The mission was-."

"Didn't you think that Porthos and I would want to be there?" Aramis interrupted. "You weren't the only musketeer who was assigned to stop Firmin. We all saw what that man had done. Did you stop to think that we would want to be there to see Firmin finally face justice, to finally know that the monster wouldn't harm another living person again?"

"It was Treville's orders."

Porthos stepped forward. "Why?" he demanded.

"Because he wasn't convinced you would manage to keep yourselves focused," Athos responded, his tone sharp with the brutal, honest truth. "Treville believed that at the first moment, both of you would have gone looking forDoña Maria."

Instantly, Porthos grabbed Athos by the front of his jacket. "You questioned our loyalty? We would have done our duty. If you weren't a friend, I would demand satisfaction from you."

"Well, don't allow friendship to get in the way of your honor."

"Enough!" Maria's voice rang out in the hall. The woman stood on the staircase. "How dare you fight like this?"

With a disgusted look, Porthos shoved Athos away and turned his attention on the woman. "Maria, we were just having a disagreement about a past mission," he said, his tone placating. "It has nothing to do with you."

"I'm scarred, not deaf, Porthos," Maria responded, her voice rising. "How dare you use any circumstance connected to me as a reason to fight among yourselves?"

D'Artagnan took a step back, judging the distance to get to the front door. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the others were at the doorway, trying to get a look at what was going on. "I'm sorry you had to hear us, Maria," Aramis spoke up. He shot Athos a sharp look. "It wasn't my intention to upset."

"All of you get out."

Even Athos looked slightly startled at the coldly spoken words. "Maria," Porthos tried again.

"I said get out!" Maria shouted, pointing at the door. "Now!"

Only the four Inseparables remained where they were as the nobles and other musketeers retreated out the front door. "Did you not hear me?" the woman asked, coming down the remaining steps. Her voice was as cold as a winter wind. "Leave this house."

"You're throwing us out?" Aramis asked incredulously. "Maria-."

"Constantly saying my name will not change my mind," Maria snapped. "I refuse to allow you to fight in my home over something that cannot be changed. You two-," she pointed at Aramis and then Porthos, "should trust your leader's judgment. If Treville chose not to inform you of the details regarding Firmin, then he had his reasons!"

Before D'Artagnan could feel even a bit of relief, the woman had turned her finger towards him and Athos. "And you two should trust your friends," she continued. "When have they ever slacked in their duty or on a mission? I am ashamed of all of you, and I will not see any of you until you have put this behind you!"

She spun and went back up the stairs she'd just come down. She vanished from sight as chiding Spanish began. Looking flustered, Wadsworth held out their respective cloaks and hats. Porthos was the first to snatch his and storm out the door. Aramis was not far behind him.

"Its probably a good thing that you and I are leaving Paris," Athos said to D'Artagnan as they left the house. The door closed behind them. "We're about to have a very uncomfortable two days."

Startled, D'Artagnan looked at his close friend and mentor. "What are you talking about?" he asked as he hurried to keep up. "From where I was standing I didn't figure into the conversation at all. Why would I-?"

"It won't take them long to remember that you were with me in Spain, and also didn't tell them about Firmin."

Biting back some choice words, D'Artagnan groaned. "Oh, great."

"They'll get over it," Athos told him. "By the time we return from the country, they will have earned their forgiveness from Maria and all will be well."

"But what about you? I mean, I can't say I was ever on close terms with Doña Maria, but have you forgotten about the trip to the Comte de Carti? Don't you need to find a way to make amends too?"

D'Artagnan heartily regretted speaking when Athos glared at him. "I will meet you at the garrison," was all the older man said though. He turned to go another way and called over his shoulder, "Have Planchet pack my things."

Heaving a sigh, the young Gascon shook his head and hurried on.

* * *

><p>Over half of the men in the musketeer ranks were preparing to leave. Aramis and Porthos were not at all subtle in their avoidance of their otherwise close companions. Treville said nothing and asked no questions, only raised his eyebrow when Porthos stormed through the courtyard after having been gone for several hours.<p>

By the evening, D'Artagnan found that he couldn't stand the silence between his friends and had boldly approached where Aramis was sharpening a dagger. For a moment, the young Gascon hesitated. "You would have done the same thing," he finally said. He was fairly certain his friend wouldn't murder him on Musketeer ground. At least, he hoped that was the case.

"What makes you say that?" Aramis asked, his tone cool. He kept his eyes on the edge of his blade.

"Because you're an honorable man," D'Artagnan pointed out, feeling more confident. Aramis' hands stilled. "So is Athos. Treville swore us both to secrecy. Would you have us both go back on our word of honor?"

Aramis finally lifted his head. "You are a fool if you believe that to be the reason for my anger."

"What was Athos supposed to tell Treville?" D'Artagnan demanded, knowing exactly what Aramis was referring to. "Argue? Try to change his mind? Fine things for a soldier, a warrior, to do with his superior officer!"

"I would expect Athos to have a little faith that we would do our duty."

On that point, at least, D'Artagnan was confident. "How do you know he didn't?" he challenged. Aramis' forehead creased with a frown. "Just because Treville decreed that you and Porthos weren't to know the whole of the matter doesn't mean that Athos didn't desire you to be there for the end of Firmin."

His frown going deeper, Aramis looked thoughtful and not as angry. "D'Artagnan!" Giles called out, coming in through the gate. "I think your sweetheart is coming. Don't tell me you haven't made an effort to see her today."

At the thought of seeing Constance, D'Artagnan decided that he'd done enough to repair the chasm between his closest friends and turned away. He ignored the catcalls and jokes that followed him. The heat outside was only slightly less than that of inside the garrison. He looked up and down the street, not immediately seeing Constance.

When he did finally see her, she at the far end of the street, leaning against a wall. She'd walked past the Musketeers' Headquarters. Puzzled, D'Artagnan set off after her. "Constance! Hey, Constance!" he called out.

He knew something was wrong when she didn't make a move. Reaching her, D'Artagnan put his hand on the young lady's shoulder. "Constance, are you well?" he asked with no little concern.

Lifting her head, Constance peered at him with eyes bright with fever. Her cheeks were flushed. "Oh, D'Artagnan," she said, hoarsely. Her neck was different shade of red, almost as though she had been in the sun too long. "There you are. I was waiting for you. We didn't finish our conversation when you ran off."

"Ran off?" D'Artagnan repeated. "Constance, this is the first time I've seen you this week." The fact that the woman stared at him in confusion only made his concern grow and he had the vague feeling he'd seen this kind of behavior before. "Hey, why don't I take you back to the palace now?"

Constance jerked away from him, her movements jerky and sudden. "Why? You don't want to see me anymore?" she demanded, her voice gaining strength with paranoia. "Is there someone else? Some whore on the streets, who's more convenient for you to see?"

With a start, D'Artagnan remembered. He'd only been a child, but he'd been among the few who'd survived the outbreak of illness that had hit the farms around his family's farm. Paranoia and hallucinations were among the symptoms that he'd seen and, according to his mother, had displayed himself.

"Constance, you're not well," he said, keeping his voice gentle and cautious. "Let me help you."

After a moment, Constance frowned at him and began to tremble. "D'Artagnan?"

Stepping forward, the young Gascon put his arms around her and pulled her close. He could feel the heat coming from Constance's body, though she was shivering as though it were the middle of winter. He grimaced, realizing that he couldn't take her back to the palace. With the court leaving, there would be no one there to care for her, and it wouldn't do to risk bringing the disease to the palace.

There was only one place he could think of, and as D'Artagnan scooped Constance up, he hoped he'd manage to get in the door. For Constance's sake.

* * *

><p>The news that the court was abandoning the city seemed to have spurred the majority of the noble families to do the same. The flurry of activity forced D'Artagnan to weave his way through people, making him more and more irritated. He finally reached his destination, where a carriage was already sitting out in front.<p>

"Monsieur D'Artagnan!" the ever busy Wadsworth exclaimed, in the middle of directing several trunks be loaded onto the carriage.

"I need Doña Maria's help," D'Artagnan said, hurrying past the man. The door was wide open and no one was in sight, so there was nothing to keep him out. And if he got inside, he knew that Doña Maria wouldn't refuse him. "She's still here, isn't she?"

Wadsworth hoovered behind him, taking care not to get too close but unwilling to abandon what he viewed to be his duty. D'Artagnan made it into the foyer. He was relived to see that Maria was already in the hall, giving orders to a pair of maids. The woman turned to face him as he carried Constance further into the room.

For a second, D'Artagnan could've sworn he saw anger in her eyes, but then there was nothing but concern. "Constance!" the lady exclaimed, rushing over. With no trace of fear, she placed her hand on Constance's forehead. "It is as though she were on fire! How long has she been like this? Why is she not in her bed?"

"I think she was coming to see me," D'Artagnan admitted. "I can't take her to the palace. I didn't know where else I could bring her where she would be safe."

Gravely, Maria nodded. "Follow me," she told him. She spun on her heel and strode towards the stairs. His arms trembling from the strain, D'Artagnan hurried after her. The woman was snapping out orders in two languages. "_**Traer el agua! **_Inform my uncle that Mademoiselle Constance, lady in waiting to the queen, is here."

The first bedchamber she came to, Maria threw the doors open and stepped aside to let D'Artagnan through first. Constance gave a moan as she was settled on the bed, her eyes fluttering open. D'Artagnan squeezed her hand once before the mistress of the house pushed him aside.

"Ah, my friend. What have you gotten yourself into now?" Maria asked, her tone light as she took a seat on the side of the bed. She put her on Constance's forehead once again. "D'Artagnan, you should go now. You are a Musketeer, not a physician."

"You'll let me know how she is?" D'Artagnan asked, backing reluctantly towards the door. A familiar older woman pushed past him with a bowl of water.

"Yes, yes. Now go."

Turning, Carmen shooed him out. Caught off guard at seeing the woman who'd been Maria's duenna before she'd gone to France, D'Artagnan found himself in the hallway with the door closed in his face. He rested his hand on the wood and then turned. Mandeville was just coming up the staircase. The older man took one look at the closed door and heaved a sigh.

"I assume Maria has shut herself in there with the ill girl?"

Keeping himself from jumping to offense, D'Artagnan nodded. "She and Constance are friends. I think," he said.

"I see," Mandeville said. "Well, I should have expected Maria to find a way to make sure she wouldn't go with me to the country." He seemed to spot the anger on D'Artagnan's face. "I'm truly sorry to hear your friend is ill. Please believe me."

"I have to return to Headquarters," D'Artagnan told him. He hurried down the stairs and left the house, ignoring the sympathetic and fearful looks that were sent his way.

* * *

><p>"You do realize that you'll only destroy half of the musketeers with this plan," Artus said, pushing away the map that was laid out on the table. He picked up his cup of wine and drained what was left of the liquid inside. "The men guarding the king will return, and they won't let the massacre of their ranks go unpunished."<p>

Beauchene shook his head. "As long as I destroy the man who killed my son, I will accept whatever consequences there are," he answered.

Artus snorted. "You may be willing to hang, but don't expect me or any of my men to wait around to get caught in the hangman's noose."

"You'll have your money when the musketeers' headquarters is in ruins."

The hired bandit grinned. "That's what I like to hear." He pulled his pistol out and checked it. "Let's kill some musketeers."


	12. Summer, 1626 Part 2

_**A/N: I really am evil to these poor musketeers sometimes...**_

* * *

><p>Porthos was the first of his friends that he met when he returned to headquarters. Any idea the large man had on continuing to ignore the young Gascon vanished when Porthos saw the expression on the younger man's face. It only took the words "Constance is ill" and Porthos forcefully steered the young man to the closest chair.<p>

One bottle of wine later, and five minutes with Porthos out of sight, an apologetic musketeer approached D'Artagnan. Treville had altered his orders: the Gascon was to remain in Paris with Porthos and Aramis. Athos alone of the _Inseparables_ was to leave the city.

D'Artagnan couldn't bring himself to thank his friend for having approached their leader for him. Especially given that neither Aramis or Porthos said a word of farewell to Athos when the king's escort left at dawn. Standing in the heat that was oppressive even at the early hour, D'Artagnan waited until he couldn't see any of the musketeers before he turned to go on his watch.

The first moment he could, D'Artagnan made his way to the Mandeville house. Monsieur Mandeville had left with court as he had planned. Very few of the servants remained, though whether they had been taken along or had fled for fear of catching the illness was anyone's guess. Still, there was a maid to open the door to his knock.

His request to enter was refused and he was about to force his way in when Doña Maria appeared behind the maid. A single word sent the young girl scampering away and the Spanish woman stepped outside the house, taking care to close the door firmly behind her. D'Artagnan pulled his hat off his head.

"Your Constance is fighting," Maria informed him, getting straight to the point. She waved her face with her fan, looking out at the unusually quiet street. "Though she did herself no favor by wandering around as ill as she was."

"She will be all right, won't she?"

Maria sighed, meeting his eyes. "If she does not recover, it will not be from any lack of effort on her or my part," she answered.

Not happy with the answer, D'Artagnan nonetheless nodded his understanding. He could remember how every effort had been made to save everyone who'd fallen ill when he was young, and still many lives had been lost. He shoved those thoughts away, knowing that dwelling on death would do no one any good.

"Who went with the king?" Maria asked.

"Treville assigned Athos as the leader, and he took most of the regiment," D'Artagnan responded, surprised by the question. "I was supposed to have gone along."

Something changed in the woman's eyes that he couldn't explain fully. "Then, they are still fighting?"

"They're not talking," D'Artagnan admitted, knowing exactly which 'they' she was referring to. "I almost expected Aramis to challenge Athos to a duel over the whole thing."

Shaking her head, Maria frowned. "Men and their stupid pride will be the death of me," she muttered, her tone an odd mixture of fondness and exasperation. D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow. "And yes, you have the same stupid pride. I will have much to say to those three the next time I see them!"

"I thought you didn't want to see them until they resolved this themselves."

"At that time, I was under the naïve assumption that their friendship would mean more to them than a disagreement over a mission long past," Maria responded. She reached out and put her hand on the his shoulder. "Try not to worry over Constance, D'Artagnan," she said, her tone soft with compassion. "Every care is being taken. I swear it."

D'Artagnan nodded, unable to trust his voice. Offering a slight smile, the woman stepped back and reentered the house. Putting his hat back on, the young Gascon set off to return to his fellow musketeers, feeling no more reassured than when he'd arrived.

The crack of a gunshot rang out in the street and D'Artagnan's hat flew off his head. Reacting on instinct, the young man ducked down, drawing his pistol as he moved. His eyes scanned the street, trying to find the shooter. There was no movement and no sound beyond the door of the Mandville house opening.

"D'Artagnan!" Maria called out, rushing out of the house. "Are you all right?"

Cautiously, D'Artagnan picked his hat up off the ground, grimacing at the hole that was now through the brim. "I'm fine," he responded, raising his voice. "The shot missed."

"Who was it?" Maria asked, glancing up and down the street herself.

"I have no idea."

* * *

><p>Every time D'Artagnan returned from checking on Constance's condition, he returned to a bottle of wine provided by Aramis or Porthos. Neither of the men would say anything, but would sit by their worried young friend, supporting him with their presence. And D'Artagnan was grateful for it, not wanting to speak of the situation.<p>

It was a situation that was steadily becoming worse and worse. More men and women were falling ill in the city, and there was no one to care for them. Even in the Musketeer's Headquarters, men were falling ill every day. The sun continued to beat down on the city, and there was no hint of rain in the sky.

Four days after the court left, the unthinkable happened. M. de Treville could not rise from his bed.

The news shook the remaining healthy men. The veteran members of the musketeers conferred to jointly take the lead, Aramis and Porthos among them. They agreed that for as long as possible they should maintain their rigid schedule. The criminals in the city who were healthy would be waiting for a moment when they could run rampant.

Taking double watch kept D'Artagnan from thinking too much about Constance and he took every opportunity to take on more tasks. It was only the watchful eye of Aramis and Porthos that kept him from doing nothing but work.

"You'll do no one any good if you were to fall ill from exhaustion," was Aramis' reasoning when he set a dish of food in front of the Gascon. "Now eat."

"Yeah, what I wouldn't give for a week of leave," Porthos said with a yawn as he settled at the table with them. "This blasted heat needs to stop."

"Yes, complaining about will make it all better. Eat something."

Porthos shook his head. "I'm not hungry," he answered. He scowled at the stew that D'Artagnan was eating. "And this slop isn't worth my time."

"So fastidious," Aramis mocked, leaning back in his chair.

D'Artagnan glanced between them, used to this type of banter. "I bet Athos is eating much better than this," Porthos complained.

"You could've gone along," the former priest pointed out. "Treville wouldn't have objected since D'Artagnan was staying here."

Whatever Porthos would have said in answer to that was lost by two musketeers coming into the courtyard. "A physician!" the younger of the two, a man called Paul, shouted. "Is the physician here?"

"What happened?" Aramis demanded, getting to his feet and rushing over ahead of everyone else.

Paul shook his head as he lowered his partner to the ground. "We were on watch," he explained as Aramis checked the man. "The shot came out of nowhere. We never seen the man. Is Renald going to be all right?"

Gravely, Aramis got to his feet. "I'm sorry," he said. "He is dead."

The young man sagged and D'Artagnan caught him before he hit the ground. "Who would do such a thing?" Porthos demanded, looking murderous. "It is a coward who attacks without showing his face and without giving fair warning!"

"Again," D'Artagnan said softly. He found himself under the sharp gaze of both of his close friends. "I didn't say anything because it seemed like nothing. The first time I went to see how Constance was, there was a shot. Its where the hole in my hat came from. There was no warning and I didn't see anyone. I thought it must have been an accident and a kid didn't want to get into trouble."

"Someone is after musketeers?" Porthos asked, glancing at Aramis.

Looking serious, Aramis lifted his shoulders in a shrug. He stepped aside to let others take care of the body, and someone took Paul from D'Artagnan. "I would blame the Red Guard, but even they would not be so cowardly and we have done nothing to provoke them," he responded. "Even the criminals in the city wouldn't be so careful."

Growling under his breath, Porthos turned back to D'Artagnan. "You should have told us."

"What good would it have done? I didn't see who it was!" D'Artagnan protested, feeling a stab at guilt. If he'd said something, maybe Renald would not be dead.

Porthos' hand came down on the younger man's shoulder. "We know you thought it nothing," the large man said, ever forgiving.

"We must warn all the men to be on their guard from now on," Aramis decided. "And, as soon as we can spare a man, begin an investigation into this incident. If someone is hunting musketeers, we need to stop him."

* * *

><p>"The musketeers are wary now," Artus reported. He stood as close to the open window as he could get. The night air was only slightly cooler than what the day's breeze had been. "It took them longer than expected. I thought for sure after I missed that impetuous boy, they would lock down their garrison to wait it out."<p>

Beauchene shook his head. "And no sign of your target?"

"If I had seen him, I would have told you," Artus said sharply. "Shall we begin the second stage of the plan?"

"Yes," his employer answered, running his hand over his gold cross. "Let's see if he comes out when the whole of Paris is threatened."

* * *

><p>Most of the musketeers were finding places to sleep at headquarters so that they were ready for anything. Each took a turn caring for their brothers in arms to the best of their ability. When the first of the men died, wine flowed more freely than before, all of the men pained at the failure to save one of their own.<p>

His head pounding, D'Artagnan made his way to the room where he knew Porthos would be sleeping off the massive quantity of wine he'd imbibed the night before. "Porthos," he called out, grimacing in pain. He steeled himself and then pounded his fist on the wood. "Porthos, we have watch. Get up already."

When there wasn't even a groan in answer, D'Artagnan reached for the doorknob. He pushed the door open and his heart nearly stopped. Porthos was sprawled on the floor. "Porthos!" he exclaimed, flinging himself down next to his friend. He could feel the heat coming from his friend's body. "Porthos, answer me!"

"-m?" Porthos mumbled something unintelligible. "-think the flowers are dead."

Frowning, D'Artagnan shook his friend's shoulder, trying to get him to focus. "Porthos, look at me," he urged. "Its me, D'Artagnan."

"-tagnan?"

Knowing he wouldn't be able to move the man on his own, D'Artagnan scrambled for the door. "Aramis!" he shouted. In the hall, from where he was bending over a patient, Aramis looked up. "Its Porthos."

In an instant, Aramis was running up the stairs. "How bad?" he demanded.

"He was talking nonsense."

Worry and weariness lined Aramis' face as he entered Porthos' room. Between the two of them, they got Porthos onto the bed, but not before the large man vomited all over the floor. Being careful to stay out of the mess, D'Artagnan tried not to become sick himself. He poured water from the pitcher and held the bowl for Aramis.

"Its not just too much wine, is it?" he asked, desperate to cling to hope.

Heaving a sigh, Aramis shook his head. "Its the same as everyone else," he answered, placing a damp cloth on his friend's head. He moved his hand to Porthos' shoulder and squeezed it. "But Porthos is the strongest man I've ever known. He will fight this."

"Sometimes that doesn't matter," D'Artagnan couldn't help saying softly.

"Not helping, D'Artagnan," Aramis said sharply. He turned his head into his arm to cough. "You should go on your watch. Leave Porthos to me."

Reluctantly, D'Artagnan backed away. He knew that of any of his fellow musketeers, Aramis was pushing himself the hardest. Very few had even half of his medical knowledge, and with physicians being harder and harder to find, his skills were needed in caring for the ill. And that meant he was constantly moving.

"Aramis," D'Artagnan said carefully. "Take care of yourself."

"No more than any other man left here," the other man answered over his shoulder. "If you should see any kind of herbs, bring them. Anything at this point will be better than nothing."

There was an underlying note of desperation in Aramis' voice that spoke volumes. D'Artagnan found he couldn't say anything, and so he hurried to go on his watch alone. It would be too hard to find another man to ride with, and though he knew Aramis would scold him for being careless, D'Artagnan felt a strong desire to be alone.

He didn't want to have to watch his friend die. He didn't want to have to see anymore death. Treville had not improved in the past three days, his fever only worsening. At times it took three men to hold their leader to the bed before he could harm himself by thrashing around in the throes of a fevered nightmare.

D'Artagnan wasn't sure whether he wished Athos was there to be a support, or being very glad he was far from the reach of the illness. If anything were to happen to Porthos...the young Gascon shook his head. None of them would take it well. It may even destroy them all if the large hearted member of their brotherhood were to die.

His watch took him past the Mandeville house. He slowed Buttercup to a halt and looked up at the open windows. For a moment, he considered getting down and taking the news to those inside. Shaking his head, he decided that nothing good would come of it. He nudged Buttercup's sides and began to continue on his way.

"Monsieur D'Artagnan!" a young voice called after him. Pausing, D'Artagnan looked over his shoulder and recognized one of the maids running after him. "Madame Maria wishes to know what's happened!"

"Nothing she needs to concern herself with," D'Artagnan answered. "How is Mademoiselle Constance?"

The beaming smile that appeared was all he needed to see to guess. "Her fever broke last night," the maid informed him. "She's still very weak, and the rash hasn't faded, but Madame Maria believes she will recover with no trouble now."

Closing his eyes, D'Artagnan breathed out. "Thank you," he whispered. He straightened, feeling hope flare to life. If Constance could survive, so would the rest of his friends. "Give Doña Maria my regards, but I must continue on."

He left the maid standing in the street. Now, he was focused on finding the herbs Aramis had asked for. Porthos wasn't about to die on his watch.

* * *

><p>Feeling weaker than she'd ever been before, Constance opened her eyes. She frowned at the unfamiliar ceiling above her. Hearing someone speaking, she turned her head and spotted Doña Maria speaking to a young girl. "He wouldn't say anything?"<p>

The girl shook her head. "He insisted it was nothing you needed to be concerned with," she responded. "Not a word about the shootings."

Shootings? Constance's frown went deeper and she struggled to get up. Was D'Artagnan in trouble?

"Constance!" All the sudden, Maria was beside her, holding her down. "You have been very ill, my friend. You must rest some more."

"D'Artagnan?" Constance managed to ask. She gave up fighting, mostly because she had run out of energy to do so. She vaguely remembered someone speaking to her and feeling terrible. Illness explained that, but not why she wasn't in her own bedchambers at the palace. "Has something happened to D'Artagnan?"

"No, no, of course not," Maria said. Constance found herself staring at the scar. She'd heard about what had happened to the Spanish noblewoman, but hadn't seen it for herself. "Constance, please try to pay attention. D'Artagnan is fine. He was just riding past, so he hasn't caught this horrible illness. You mustn't worry about him."

Realizing that she was being rude, Constance frowned up at Maria's eyes. "Then, why are you worried?"

Maria drew back. "I must always worry over those musketeers," she said, her tone light. "In fact, I must leave you to Carmen's care for a little while now that you are recovered."

Constance was having trouble keeping her eyes open. "Why?"

"Hush. Sleep now," Maria urged, lowering her tone. "Leave those musketeers to me."

Abandoning efforts to learn more, Constance slipped into sleep.

* * *

><p>It was Paul who met D'Artagnan on his return. The young Gascon was flushed, not only from the heat, but also with victory at having found an old crone with herbs. He'd even managed to get all she had at a reasonable price. "Tell Aramis that I have something he's going to like," he said to Paul as he slid of Buttercup's back.<p>

"D'Artagnan, Aramis has fallen ill," the other man told him, looking uneasy.

Spinning around, D'Artagnan stared at him. "What?"

"Not an hour ago, he collapsed while seeing to the captain," Paul explained, his eyes wide. He was a newer recruit, and was clearly floundering in the situation. "We managed to find someone with medical knowledge, but he refuses to stay now that he's seen how many are really ill."

D'Artagnan closed his eyes. "And two more musketeers were shot when they went to put out a fire," Paul added as an after thought. "They're both dead."

A fire in this dry heat would be a disaster. Clenching his fist, D'Artagnan shook his head, saving that incident to deal with later. "I see," he said, his voice like stone. He shoved the saddlebags full of herbs at Paul, and then stalked towards the main door. Two musketeers were already arguing with the wizened old man, who D'Artagnan assumed was the man that had been found. "Sir!"

"I will not stay any longer!" the man insisted, turning his glare on the Gascon. "There is nothing more to be done for these men! God has passed judgment on this city. Who am I to fight against the Divine will?"

D'Artagnan bit back a groan at that. An old religious zealot was no fun even on a good day. "Sir, surely you see that these men have need of you," he tried to reason.

"Let me leave. Now!"

His temper snapping, D'Artagnan pulled his pistol and aimed it at the man. "Do not make me threaten you, old man."

"You wouldn't kill me," the old man snapped back. "I'm no good to you dead."

"Maybe, but I have the feeling you can still work if I were to put a bullet in your shoulder," D'Artagnan responded, shifting his aim.

The man raised his chin. "I will not be bullied into this."

"D'Artagnan!"

Surprised, D'Artagnan spared a glance back at the woman who was coming into the hall. Doña Maria was dressed in a simple brown gown, the hood of her black cloak covering her head. There was the timid maid behind her. "Doña Maria, now is not a good time," the young Gascon answered. "I must convince this man to stay and see to his patients."

He wasn't really surprised when the woman ignored his words. "I see," she said. "Well, I've come to see Aramis and Porthos. Will you please point me in their direction and I will let you continue with your...convincing."

"Aramis and Porthos are ill," D'Artagnan informed her bluntly. "Which is why I am insisting this man remain."

In the middle of removing her cloak, Maria went very still for a moment. "When this is over, D'Artagnan, you and I will be having a conversation about does and does not concern me," she said, folding her cloak and tossing it onto the stair railing. She pointed at the frail, defiant old man. "Show me to them, señor . Now."

"No foreigner tells me what to do," the old man sneered. "Especially not a woman."

Two more pistols joined D'Artagnan's. "You will go along with the lady, monsieur," Maurice, one of the old musketeers said, with a steely note in his voice. "And count yourself fortunate that we are willing to forget the slight given her in our presence."

Where one pistol hadn't fazed the man in the least, three seemed to give the old man something to think about. He glared at the musketeers and then turned, very slowly. "Fine," he spat out. "This way, woman."

Slowly, as the old man went up the stairs with Maria close behind, D'Artagnan lowered his gun. "The illness isn't our only problem. We can't afford to keep sending men out on watch, if they're just going to get killed," Maurice said quietly, getting the young Gascon's attention. "We don't even know who this man is."

"Something needs to be done," D'Artagnan agreed, somewhat bemused to find himself one of the men being looked to. He supposed it came from his close association with Aramis, Athos, and Porthos. He rubbed the side of his head as he thought. "Give me some time to think of just what that could be."

"_**Salir! Ahora!"**_

Flinching, D'Artagnan looked up to see that the old man was scrambling for the stairs, and Maria was pursuing with her finger pointed at the man in what was a surprisingly threatening way. She stopped halfway down the stairs, glaring as the man made a beeline for the door. "Let him leave!" the Spanish woman snapped as the musketeers moved to stop the man.

"We need him!" D'Artagnan argued, pointing after the man as he stalked towards the stairs. "You were supposed to be persuading him to remain!"

"I would not have allowed that...that man anywhere near a man I hated," she responded defiantly. "He wouldn't have been any help as his medical knowledge was more than a little alarming. Have you seen what he has done to Aramis?"

Alarmed, D'Artagnan bounded up the stairs, pushing past her. He made straight for the room where he'd left Porthos. He knew without a doubt that there would be no other room the others would have put Aramis. The stench of fresh sickness hit him as he entered the room, and he raised his arm to cover his nose.

His eyes widened as he took in the bloodstained bandage that was wrapped around Aramis' arm. He'd seen men bled before, but never left in this condition. Maria slipped past him and went to Aramis' bedside. "The man is _**un carnicero,**_" she said, a note of condemnation in her tone. She began to unwrap the poorly tied bandage. "How many others are ill?"

Caught off guard by the question, D'Artagnan hesitated before he made a guess. The woman showed no surprise, only nodded her head as if he'd merely confirmed it for her. "So, most of the musketeers who are still here. That is not good, but not unexpected. And you are still being hunted in the streets?" the woman asked.

"Yes," D'Artagnan answered with resignation. He had no idea how the woman seemed to know what was going on around her. He could understand why Athos would have been suspicious of her. "I don't think you should be-."

The woman held up her hand, interrupting him. D'Artagnan was momentarily distracted by the blood that was on her hand. Aramis' blood. The young Gascon felt slightly ill. "Clearly you need help here," Maria said, her matter of factness catching his attention. "How many of you know how to manage a household, which is essentially what this is? You worry about drawing your enemy out of hiding. I will worry about everyone who is sick. What of señor de Treville?"

"He is ill as well," he informed her. "He hasn't shown any sign of recovering."

Maria's hand curled tightly around the a bloody bandage. "Then, you have a great deal to see to, D'Artagnan," she said, the calm false in her voice. She stood up and went to Porthos' bedside. She laid the back of her hand on his head for a moment. The large man muttered something unintelligible. "Oh my friends."

"We needed that physician."

"Physician? That...man was no physician!" Maria snapped. "I**mbécil!"**

"Excuse me?"

"Not you, though you are close to becoming one in my opinion," the woman responded, glancing over. She straightened her shoulders and faced him. "What is the one thing a physician worries over when a man is shot or stabbed?"

Puzzled, D'Artagnan frowned. "Blood loss," he answered automatically. "What does that have to do-?"

"If blood loss is such a concern, why inflict it on one already sick?" the woman asked, interrupting him yet again. She waved her hand dismissively. "I know. I know. The humors must be balanced, but it does not make the least bit of sense. Now, you will leave the sick to me. You have an enemy to find."

"How do you possibly expect to care for so many alone?"

An enigmatic smile curving her lips, Maria raised an eyebrow. "Whoever said I would be alone?"

* * *

><p>"This seems like too much of a risk. With the entire garrison filled with sick men, who cannot defend themselves, we need to draw our enemy out somewhere else."<p>

Glancing around Treville's office, D'Artagnan could see that most of the musketeers were in agreement with that sentiment. They'd been "Where else, then?" he asked, putting every ounce of conviction that he had into his words. "We all know that we cannot keep riding into the city without knowing who it is that is after us. And the only way we can learn who it is, is if we draw him out after us."

Leaning forward, D'Artagnan hit the spread out map with his fist. "We owe it to those who have already been killed not to let another musketeer fall to this man," he insisted, seeing several of the men's expressions turn thoughtful. "We know our headquarters, and our enemy won't. Here, we have the advantage."

"What about the rest of Paris?" a man called out as the office door squeaked when it opened. "Are we to do nothing if another fire breaks out? The city will burn!"

There was a murmur of agreement. "Who stopped the fire earlier?" D'Artagnan challenged. He watched the others exchange puzzled looks. "Brun and Moreau were killed. What happened to the fire then? The city is still standing and I don't see any smoke. So, we have to assume that our enemy has no quarrel with Paris itself. The fire was just a way to draw us out."

He could see that he was getting through to them. "We owe it to the dead to protect those who cannot protect themselves," Maurice argued. "That includes the ill who are here. What you're suggesting is putting the ill right in the middle of a battle!"

"They wouldn't be in the middle of the fight. I propose we transfer all the sick men who can be moved to the cellar, and leave it defended by two musketeers," D'Artagnan responded instantly. "And, if the rest of us do our jobs as we've been trained to do, the sick will never be in any kind of danger that they're not already in."

When he looked around, D'Artagnan could see that there were no more objections. "I wouldn't suggest this if I didn't see any other way," he said, lowering his voice. "Treville would be the first to say this is our best option."

One by one, the other men began to nod. "All right," the young Gascon said. "We should begin moving the men. Pass the word on to the others when they come off guard."

"The women aren't going to be very happy about that."

At young Paul's words, all of the men turned and looked at the man. "What did you say?" D'Artagnan asked in confusion.

Paul gestured towards the door. "The women have already moved all the men once," he answered his voice nervous. "You haven't seen? They've been at work this past hour."

Weaving his way through the crowd of men, D'Artagnan pulled the door open and stepped out. He came to a stop as a middle aged woman marched past with an armful of clean linen. A moment later, a young girl ran past with a bowl of water in her hands. "What-?" D'Artagnan began to ask as he moved to the railing to look down into the hall.

Where normally only men trained and talked and drank, there were at least fifteen women at work. Just as Paul had said. The sick men had been moved into the hall where there was more room. D'Artagnan realized he recognized some of the faces. "This is what she meant," he whispered.

Wives of musketeers. Daughters. Sisters. Even a lady of the night D'Artagnan had seen Aramis kiss farewell one day.

All of them working to care for the sick soldiers.

Turning, D'Artagnan faced the other, healthy musketeers who remained. "We have work to do," he said, getting their attention. "We're not going to have much time before our enemy figures out what we're doing."

Quickly, the men scattered into pairs, each consulting with his partner. D'Artagnan wasn't at all surprised at how many of them stopped to speak to the woman. The young Gascon grinned when he saw every single woman shoo the musketeers away with sharp words and threats. A musketeer would never have anything to do with a weak woman.

He found his thoughts going to Constance, and he wondered if she knew what was happening. Shaking his head, D'Artagnan set out for the gunroom. Time was short, and there was much work to get done.

* * *

><p>"The musketeers are hiding away in their headquarters like scared children."<p>

Beauchene shook his head. "Like the intelligent soldiers that they've been trained to be," he corrected.

"You rather sound like you admire these musketeers," Artus commented, eyeing his employer with no little suspicion. "Which would be ridiculous because you want them all dead."

"I want only one of the musketeers dead, not them all," Beauchene corrected again, meeting the criminal's look with disdain. "His men are merely the victims that must be sacrificed for me to have my revenge. And there is no dishonor in respecting your opponents skills. Every good soldier knows that to be the case."

Artus scoffed. "The only thing I respect about my enemies is that they fall at my feet."

"That is because you are not a soldier."

"Neither are you."

Shaking his head again, Beauchene finished his glass of wine. "Not long and this will be ended," he murmured, fingering the gold cross.

"I'll gather my men and we will begin our attack."

"No. Not just yet." At Artus' confused look, the older man explained, "They will expect an attack in the night. If we wait until dawn, once we wait two days, at least some of them will be tired and we will have a greater chance of getting in."

Grabbing the bottle of wine, Artus gave a mocking bow. "I'm sure you know best."

* * *

><p>It had taken a very long argument with the wife of one of the musketeers before the women consented to allowing the sick men to be moved. Though it took several hours, the hall had been cleared and all windows covered. Night had fallen. Feeling exhausted, D'Artagnan took a seat on the stairs and rested his elbows on his knees, his head on his hands.<p>

"I hear you have a plan."

Lifting his head, D'Artagnan twisted around to look up at the Spanish woman coming down the steps. She looked as tired as he felt, and her dress had some suspicious looking stains decorating it. "You said it yourself," D'Artagnan responded. "We need to draw our enemy out sooner rather than later. So, that's what we're doing."

To his surprise, Maria sat down next to him. "That is good," was all she said.

There was a moment of silence that, as it always did, made D'Artagnan uneasy. "That was a good idea, getting all the women," he remarked. "I never would have thought about it. How did you convince them to come here? You can't tell me that they have no other family who is sick and has need of them right now."

"True," Maria answered, her tone serious. "But you underestimate a woman's love for her husband or sweetheart. A girl's love for her father. And a sister's affection. Every woman who answered my message needed no convincing. They know the King's Musketeers are the most steadfast of protectors to the city and are needed."

"If you were a man, you'd either be the king's adviser or leading the musketeers yourself," D'Artagnan marveled.

"Then, perhaps it is just as well I am not. Cardinal Richelieu would be a very intimidating opponent, and I am fond of Treville."

Surprised, D'Artagnan frowned at her. He well knew her affection for his friends, but never once had anything been said about his captain. And, thinking of his friends... "How are Aramis and Porthos?"

The woman beside him heaved a sigh. "They are fighting," she responded. "But Aramis...I am worried that the cut on his arm is becoming infected."

Closing his eyes, D'Artagnan shook his head. "Athos will not be happy if Aramis dies," he commented, not able to think of anything else to say about the situation.

"_I_ will not be happy if Aramis dies. I've lost too many people in my life."

Forcing his eyes open, D'Artagnan peered at her. "You still miss your husband?" he asked. This was the first time he'd ever been alone with the woman. He was curious about what exactly it was about her that attracted Aramis and Porthos. "Were you married for very long?"

Again, Maria sighed. "Six years," she answered, her voice low and sad. Startled, D'Artagnan stared at her. "My father arranged my betrothal to the Marquis de Molin when I was thirteen, the same year Queen Anne married the king. It is why I was not allowed to accompany her when she traveled to Paris then, as was my wish."

"You wouldn't have stayed long," D'Artagnan responded. "Porthos told me that most of the original Spanish ladies in waiting were dismissed by the king's adviser."

"That would have been a most interesting day," Maria responded, a ghost of a smile appearing.

D'Artagnan considered that and chuckled. "I guess it would have been," he agreed, unable to think of a single person in court, besides the queen herself, who would have been able to force Maria from anywhere she wanted to be. He hesitated before he asked his next question. Aramis and Porthos would have his hide if they ever heard he questioned her. "Was your husband the first person you ever lost?"

"No, my mother died when I was fifteen years old," Maria answered. She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned against the wall. "My mother was the most beautiful woman I ever knew. She loved Paris, and would have been so happy to know I had managed to come to her favorite city." Her voice lowered to almost a whisper. "Even though the price was so very high."

"What are you talking about?" D'Artagnan asked. He glanced around, regretting that he didn't have a bottle of wine. It seemed like that kind of conversation.

Maria met his gaze. "You have been in Madrid, D'Artagnan," she responded. "You know the attitude of men there." She shook her head. "The attitude of most men. A woman has no say in what happens to her. Do you honestly believe that my brothers just allowed me, a widow, to leave Madrid without them?"

Flinching, D'Artagnan shrugged. He'd honestly not thought about it at all. "So, what? Your brothers had your uncle pay for you? That kind of price?"

"I am no slave to be bought or sold!" Maria snapped. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, to calm down. "Though, I suppose it is the same thing when you think about it. My brothers have arranged for me to be married once more."

The Gascon stared at her. "You're what?"

"I am now betrothed," she clarified, disgust twisting her face. She dropped her gaze and seemed to hug herself tighter. "They have not told me who it is, but the man is coming to Paris on an Ambassadorial mission from the Pope. Or so I was told. That is why they were so willing to allow me to come to Paris with my uncle."

Shocked, D'Artagnan shook his head as he tried to comprehend this news. "Why haven't you told Aramis or Porthos?" he demanded. "They're going to be furious when they learn about this!"

"That's why I haven't told them!" Maria answered. "I know I should have, but they were so happy to see me when I arrived that I couldn't bear to do it."

"Well, waiting until your fiance shows up isn't going to make things any better," D'Artagnan pointed out. He ran his hand through his hair. "I cannot emphasize just how furious they're going to be. And Athos-."

Groaning, Maria lifted hand to her face. "He was just starting to warm up to me," she lamented.

"Well, you shouldn't complain. This is your doing."

"Its not as though I had any thing else I could do!" Maria objected, her eyes flashing. "If you were given the choice between being secluded away in a convent for the rest of your life or marrying a stranger, what choice would you have made? That was the choice my brothers gave me. At least this way, I could come back to Paris."

D'Artagnan scoffed. "Yeah, just to have Porthos murder your fiance."

"You think he would?" Maria asked, her tone almost hopeful. She shook her head a moment later. "Athos would never let him."

"Madame!" a woman called from above them. "Come quickly!"

Getting to his feet, D'Artagnan helped the Spanish woman up. "Swear to me you won't say a word of this to them," Maria requested. "Once they are well, I wish to tell them myself."

"Oh, I'm not breathing a word of our conversation to anyone," D'Artagnan answered, holding his hands up. Nodding, Maria hurried up the stairs and vanished from sight. The Gascon breathed out and shook his head. "I don't have a death wish."


	13. Summer, 1626 Part 3

_**A/N: This is my last chapter before I go on hiatus. I have a whole bunch of stuff to work out. Any way, I hope you enjoy!**_

* * *

><p>Four hour watches were done through the night. Most of the more experienced Musketeers had shared the opinion that there would be an overnight attack, but D'Artagnan had disagreed. "He's trying to be unexpected," he'd reasoned. "So, he'll attack just before dawn when its darkest. He'll think we will be tired from watching through the night."<p>

"If he's going to be unexpected, why do you expect him to do that?" Maurice objected.

D'Artagnan shrugged. "Its a feeling I have," was all he could say in response.

So, the night watch was still enforced with double the men. D'Artagnan took his watch just past midnight, and was unsurprised by the quiet. He _was_ surprised when the sun came up and nothing happened. But, then he realized that their opponent was trying to mess with their minds, and planned to take them unawares.

But, the Musketeer regiment was made of sterner stuff than that. The soldiers held to their posts with determination not to let the suspense get to them.

Slowly, the inside of the headquarters began to smell less of death and illness and more of soap with a hint of broth being cooked. One side of the courtyard had been commandeered by the women, and a line of laundry dried quickly in the hot son. D'Artagnan was actually impressed at how quickly morale seemed to have improved.

The air in the cellar was much cooler than anywhere else in the garrison. D'Artagnan found he had to be quick on his feet to keep out of the way of the working women. Weaving his way through the beds, he searched for his friends. He was pleased to see at least five of the musketeers sitting up and looking as though they were beginning to recover.

An older woman informed him, when he finally broke down and asked, that the worst of the ill had been kept away from the others. She kindly pointed him to where Aramis and Porthos had been moved to. D'Artagnan spotted Maria coming from that corner of the cellar, holding her left hand over her face and shaking her right hand.

"What happened to you?" the Gascon asked, unable to keep a grin off his face.

"Porthos took exception to the broth, and I took exception to his offense," Maria responded, her voice muffled by her hand. She continued on her way and called over her shoulder, "You deal with him."

Finding Porthos out cold, D'Artagnan wondered just how hard Maria had hit the large man and made a mental note not to get on her bad side. He took a seat by Aramis' bed. Just as the Spanish woman had feared, the cut on Aramis' arm had become infected, making the former priest's fever that much worse. A bowl of tepid water was all that was available to try to cool the man's forehead.

The young Gascon spent several hours, caring for his friends. He found himself dozing as the day stretched on. He started awake when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "_**Perdón," **_Maria said, moving to stand by him. She'd obviously gotten some sleep, her black hair in a messy braid. "You should return to your post."

"How is Treville?" D'Artagnan asked, glancing around. He felt a stab of guilt that he hadn't even looked in on his captain.

"Improving. His fever has vanished. I don't believe it will be long before he is trying to escape his bed."

Standing up, the Gascon noticed that there was a dark bruise surrounding her left eye. "Porthos got you good," he remarked. "Athos will never let him live this down. Neither will Aramis..."

They both looked down at where Aramis was muttering something unintelligible. "What would the inseparable musketeers be without Aramis?" Maria asked, seating herself on the edge of the bed. She wrung the water from the cloth and dabbed at the sweat on the ill man's face. "I cannot imagine such a thing."

"Aren't you worried you'll become ill?"

"If there is no one to care for them, what chance do they have of getting well?" Maria countered. "I could ask the same of you, D'Artagnan."

The young man shrugged in answer. "I had a similar illness when I was young," he answered honestly, "and I survived then."

"D'Artagnan!"

Looking up, Maria offered a wry smile. "Duty calls," she said. "Do let us know when it is safe to leave."

"What are you talking about?"

"Some of you musketeers are overly protective, and have not let us step foot past the gate," the woman explained, her tone patient. "I may not have a family to care for, but some of the other women have families they must see to."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I wasn't aware that was happening. I'll have a word with the men at the gate. I don't see why the women shouldn't be allowed to leave," he said. "Only a fool would harm them."

"Sadly, I believe that most men who choose to fight against the musketeers are fools."

Knowing he couldn't argue with that, D'Artagnan left the cellar. It felt as though he hit a wall as he left the cool air and entered the heat of the afternoon. Sighing, he moved to join his fellow musketeers.

* * *

><p>When night fell, over half of the women left the musketeer headquarters to return to their families. As the previous night, there was an unnatural hush around the garrison that made D'Artagnan uneasy. This time, the other musketeers on guard shared the feeling, making all of them on edge and jumpy as they scanned the streets around them.<p>

The night seemed to stretch on. In the sky overhead, lightening flashed but no rain or cool breeze brought any relief to the men.

"If they don't get around to actually attacking us, I'm severely tempted to go out there and find them," Maurice muttered when he walked past where D'Artagnan was posted.

The idea had its appeal, D'Artagnan had to admit, even if the current plan had been his own. He'd managed to get a couple hours of sleep after he'd left his friends to Maria's care. He yawned, feeling the effects of the stress and non-stop work that was beginning to catch up to him.

Looking back, D'Artagnan knew he should have expected it to come then. It always did.

Still, when the bullet ricocheted off the wall, inches from his head, D'Artagnan bit back a curse as he jerked down. "Attack!" he shouted. "We're under attack!"

The darkness may have been their enemy's ally, but it did offer something in favor of the musketeers. The flash of the muskets were ever brighter in the dark of the night, and gave the musketeers an idea of the direction they needed to aim. Shouts of pain rang out as the musketeers responded to the threat, their musket fire shattering the silence.

And then, in the middle of the fight, a barrel came rolling along the ground, landing in front of the closed gate. "Gunpowder!" came the shout.

Moments later, the gunpowder exploded. D'Artagnan was thrown to the ground, and he was quick to scramble up. "Keep them from getting in!" he shouted, spotting the gaping hole in the wall of the garrison. He cursed when he realized he was the closest one, and he bolted to take up position.

A tall man stepped in front of him, sword drawn. "Killing musketeers is a sport I don't think I will ever tire of," the man commented.

His eyes narrowing, D'Artagnan adjusted his grip on his rapier and attacked.

* * *

><p>The few women who remained for the night knew the moment the attack happened. The slightly muffled gunshots reached their ears, and the two musketeers at the entrance of the lower levels straightened. The sound was enough to wake those whose fever had broken, and the women found themselves tasked with keeping the men in their beds.<p>

"-happening?"

Being the closest one, Maria put her hand on Captain Treville's shoulder. "You must stay where you are, senor," she told him. "You have been very ill."

The captain's eyes were clear, though weary, and he squinted up at the woman in the dim light. "Doña Maria," he recognized. "Where are my musketeers?"

Swiftly, Maria glanced around the room. "Many are around you," she answered honestly. Treville lifted his head to follow her gaze. "I fear that several were lost to the illness. The rest, who are well, are defending us."

"We're under attack?"

"D'Artagnan has it well in hand," Maria assured him quickly. "I have no doubt that he will carry the day."

Leaning back with a sigh, Treville closed his eyes. A moment later, though, he was struggling to sit up again. "Senor, you must rest!" the woman beside him urged, pressing down on his shoulders. "Whatever is wrong, tell me."

"My papers," the captain of the musketeers said. "They must not fall into anyone else's hands."

Frowning, Maria glanced towards the stairs. "I will have them brought, but you must rest," she finally responded. She waited until the man nodded, and then she got to her feet. She gestured for her maid, and said to the young girl, "Stay with this one. Make sure he stays where he is."

Nodding, the maid took a seat by the bed. Taking a deep breath, Maria walked to the stairs. "You shouldn't go up there," the older of the two musketeers said to her. "I have the feeling that you won't get shown any mercy just because your a woman."

"First of all, I am confident that D'Artagnan will hold them off successfully," Maria responded with a slight smile. She held out her hand. "But if you are so concerned, hand me your pistol."

She bit back a triumphant smile as the man handed over the weapon without question. She checked it, remembering every step Porthos had once taught her, much to the obvious shock of the musketeer before her. Taking a deep breath, Maria climbed the steps, feeling the air become hotter and hotter the further up she went.

Moving quickly, and trying not to flinch at the gunfire that was happening outside, Maria reached the hall, and ran up the steps to Treville's office. She found stacks of papers there, and shook her head at the blatant disorganization. "All of these?" she asked out loud. Heaving a long suffering sigh, she grabbed the closest handful that had official looking seals on it.

Resigning herself to the prospect of multiple trips, if the fight outside carried on much longer, the woman hurried down the stairs. She was halfway across the hall when there was a deafening blast at the front door. Ducking down instinctively, Maria held her hand over her face as wood splinters flew through the air.

When she straightened up, there was a man already stepping through where the doors had once been. Marveling out how steady her hand was, Maria raised the pistol. "Stop," she called out, letting the papers fall to the floor.

Her voice seemed to startle the man. "Madame," he greeted.

"Senor," she responded, spotting the musket in his left hand and the rapier in his right. "You have chosen your opponents most unwisely."

"You think I fear a woman?"

"I was referring to the musketeers," Maria corrected, unable to keep her smile from appearing momentarily. "You will not win."

The man took a step forward. "I'm not doing this to win, Madame," he said, his tone fierce. "Once I have seen justice done, I will accept whatever consequences come."

"What justice is killing sick men, or ambushing men doing their duty?" Maria countered, holding her ground. She tightened her grip on the pistol.

"It was necessary for the sake of justice!"

"The musketeers would have been the most likely to help you receive justice," Maria argued. "But you have made them your enemy, and therefore you are my enemy as well. I warn you. Lay down your weapons and surrender."

"The musketeers began this when they killed my son! Dion was my only child, and he was taken from me! The man who took his life will lose his life as well. "An eye for an eye'."

He kept taking careful steps in Maria's direction. Unable to actually bring herself to pull the trigger, she took a step back. "Tell me," she requested, trying to think quickly. The sound of the battle being fought seemed to have vanished as she focused on the man before her. "Which musketeer was it that committed this crime?"

"Treville," the man spat out. "He was supposed to guide Dion, teach him. Instead, he was cut down within days of receiving his commission. He was the last Beauchene. Now, my family line is gone, and my wife must live out her life knowing she will have no son to care for her.."

"Where is your wife, senor Beuachene?" Maria asked, grasping the bargaining point he'd just given her. "Does she know what you have done?"

Beauchene tensed. "Amélie has nothing to do with this!"

"Does she not? Do you think that because she is a woman she does not feel the loss of her child as much as you?" Maria demanded. "I have lost a son and a husband. I know the pain she must be in, and what she will soon feel. You are making your Amelie a widow, and she will not forgive you for it."

Her words made Beauchene pause, just for a moment. "I will have my revenge," he insisted.

"And I will defend my friends," Maria responded. "Do not make me shoot you."

* * *

><p>The full moon and the scattered torches were the only source of light in the fight. D'Artagnan thought he'd seen someone make it inside Musketeer Headquarters, but his opponent was keeping him very occupied. The young Gascon could only hope that the two musketeers inside, guarding the sick, would take the intruder out.<p>

"You musketeers pulled inside your shell faster than a turtle," the mercenary man taunted. "I expected more bravery out of you."

There was a time when such words would have sent D'Artagnan into a rage. He took a moment to be proud of the fact that at least one of Athos' lessons had sunk in. "Well, they say that sometimes discretion is the better part of valor," he responded, blocking the attack that came towards him. "After all, we got what wanted: you, out of the shadows, where we can kill you properly."

Artus was a skilled swordsman, there could be no mistake about that. But, D'Artagnan had the benefit of experienced lessons. He blocked and parried, and held his emotions in tight control. He ignored the roar of muskets that came from all around, focused only on taking out the enemy.

Shock showed in Artus' eyes when D'Artagnan's knocked his blade away. The mercenary took a step backwards. "Why are you attacking musketeers?" D'Artagnan demanded. As much as he wanted to dispatch the man without any further thought, he wanted to know why. "What have we ever done to you?"

"Its just business."

"Business?" D'Artagnan repeated in disbelief, raising his rapier. "Killing men who had never done you any-Argh!"

He staggered back with a cry of pain as a bullet plowed through his arm. When he'd recovered, not a second later, there was no sign of his opponent. Cursing, D'Artagnan started for the gaping hole in the wall.

* * *

><p>"You haven't the nerve."<p>

There was no way Maria would miss if she pulled the trigger. She knew it. But she couldn't bring herself to do it, even when he stepped right up against the barrel of the pistol. "Now, where is Treville?" Beauchene asked, grasping the pistol and pushing it down. "I can see that you are fond of the musketeers, and you must understand that I respect them for what they stand for. No more blood will be shed once I have my revenge. You can end it if you tell me where he is."

"No."

Grabbing her arm, Beauchene swung her around and pushed her away. Stumbling, Maria managed to keep her grip on the pistol and caught herself against the wall. Her hand was shaking as she brought it up again.

A gunshot rang out. Gasping, Maria let her hand drop. Beauchene went down on his knees and then fell forward to the floor. Turning her gaze towards the cellar doorway, Maria saw Treville lower the musket as he leaned heavily against the door frame. "He would not have hurt me," she said, when she could think of nothing else to say.

"He would have, to get to me."

"Who was he?" Maria asked, kneeling down to begin collecting the papers she'd dropped. She had to raise her voice over the gunfire and the clash of blades that suddenly seemed louder than before.

Treville looked weary, and simply shook his head. "Now is not the time, Doña Maria."

Slipping the pistol into her belt, Maria rose and strode towards him quickly. "You should not be out of bed," she chided, pulling the musket from his hand. She leaned it against the wall. "Come. Let your musketeers handle the rest."

"You are a managing woman."

"If I were not, you would be in far worse shape."

"Captain!" D'Artagnan exclaimed. Maria glanced over her shoulder in time to see the young man do a double take at the body on the floor.

"We will have words, D'Artagnan," the older man said to the musketeer. "Tomorrow."

Nodding, D'Artagnan straightened his shoulder. "I will see senor de Treville to his bed, and then I will see to your arm," Maria informed him. "Try to avoid me, and I will make you regret it."

"I don't doubt it," D'Artagnan told her honestly, even as he backed towards the fight that was beginning to die down outside.

Shaking her head, Maria maneuvered under Treville's arm and supported him.

* * *

><p>In the light of morning, D'Artagnan considered the wrecked wall and gate of the Musketeer Headquarters. "Treville is going to kill us all when he sees this," he said out loud. He rubbed at the sweat that was beading up on his forehead. "Or worse. He'll have us standing guard for one of the king's parades."<p>

"He'll show some mercy for actually winning, right?"

D'Artagnan glanced over at the newer recruit. "Some still got away," he pointed out. It was a sore point, and one he wouldn't forget for awhile. His opponent had vanished without a trace, and the Gascon knew that the man would turn up again at some point.

Looking slightly green, Paul returned to the work of carrying out the bodies. Three men had succumbed to the fever during the night, on top of those that had fallen in battle. Musketeer and mercenary. Shaking his head, D'Artagnan headed inside, thankful to get out of the sun, though the shade wasn't much better.

He'd already had a long talk with Treville, explaining what had happened while the captain was ill. The women that had taken over had been a bit difficult to explain, but Treville seemed to have taken it into stride. D'Artagnan was grateful that, with Treville still weak, the discussion had been shorter than it might have been on a normal day.

Going down the steps to the cellar, D'Artagnan winced when he bumped against the wall to get out of the way of an older woman who looked as though he was on a mission. The bullet wound he'd gained in the fight had been sewn shut the night before, though the stitches were uneven. D'Artagnan almost smiled, thinking of how dismayed Aramis would be when he saw.

Just as quickly, he shook his head. While the demise of their attacker had boosted morale, the sickness still had to be vanquished. Reaching the cool of the cellar, where the sick were still being cared for. The quiet he was expecting was gone, shouts ringing out. First thing, D'Artagnan saw Maria was coming towards him.

"D'Artagnan, there you are," the woman said, immediately. She turned on her heel and returned the way she'd come. "I need you to do something with Porthos."

"What?" D'Artagnan asked, taken aback. Fear spiked through his heart. "Is he-?"

"His fever has broken and he has just woken up. He's seen Aramis. He will not listen to reason."

Quickening his pace, D'Artagnan reached her side just as she was going into the small alcove where Aramis and Porthos were. Porthos was fighting to rise from his bed, two women struggling to hold him down. In the other bed, Aramis was thrashing wildly, in the throes of a feverish dream. "Porthos," he called out, his tone weak but desperate.

"Let me get to him!" Porthos demanded.

"D'Artagnan, no word I say will reach him," Maria said in a low voice to the young musketeer beside her. She went to the far bed, and bent over the still sick man. Whatever she was saying couldn't be heard, but her hand grasped Aramis' tightly.

That Porthos had been ignoring even Maria in his attempt to get to his friend -his brother- spoke volumes. Swiftly, D'Artagnan put himself between Porthos' bed and Aramis'. "Porthos, enough," he said, striving for the authoritative tone that came so easily to Athos. "You are barely well yourself. Let Doña Maria nurse Aramis back to health."

For a moment, he was afraid that he'd have to resort to more extreme methods to reach his confused friend. Then, Porthos' struggles slowed and he lifted his eyes. "D'Artagnan?" he rasped out. "What's happened?"

Motioning the women away, D'Artagnan crouched by the bed. "Its me, my friend," he assured him. "You've been ill. You're in the cellar of the garrison at the moment."

"Then, Aramis isn't-," Porthos broke off, closing his eyes. He fell back against the bed as if suddenly drained of all energy. "I don't know what I thought."

Glancing over his shoulder, D'Artagnan flinched as he saw Maria unwrap the bandage around Aramis' arm, revealing the inflamed wound there. "He's sick with the same illness that you," he said, turning his attention back. He was quick to put his hand on Porthos' shoulder. "As I said, Doña Maria is nursing him now. You know Aramis wouldn't dare die on her watch."

"Lucky Aramis," Porthos mumbled with half a grin. "I always knew she loved him best."

D'Artagnan heard Maria scoff at that. "You'd better watch what you say, Porthos," the Gascon warned. "Maria nursed you too, and you gave her a black eye for her trouble. You need to figure out how you're going to make it up to her."

"You're lying," Porthos accused, his words slurring together with sleep.

"Oh, he wishes you were lying," Maria remarked.

Turning, D'Artagnan watched her wash the wound. "How bad is it?" he asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"Bad enough," Maria responded, keeping her eyes on her work. "I'm leaving Porthos to you from now on."

"Thanks."

* * *

><p>As so many nights before, lightning flashed through the sky. Standing on the edge of the hole in the wall, D'Artagnan watched, somehow unable to sleep. He'd spent nearly all his time, keeping Porthos from getting out of bed. With the help of another musketeer, they'd moved the large man to a different part of the cellar, far from where Aramis was being nursed.<p>

It had been wiser for everyone connected to Aramis, especially when Maria had lanced the wound. The woman had walked from the bed, looking pale. She'd left one of the older women in charge and had vanished from the garrison, only to return an hour later as though nothing had happened. No one had commented on her red rimmed eyes.

"I don't know how much longer Aramis can survive with the fever."

Startled by the accented voice, D'Artagnan turned to find the woman by him. Her eyes were on the night sky. "I know you've done everything you could," D'Artagnan said to her, feeling a pain in his heart.

She shook her head. "I would gladly marry the worst of nobles if it meant Aramis would live."

"I don't think God bargains like that. Aramis would have mentioned it, I think."

Softly, Maria laughed, a sad note in her voice. "I can see him trying to bargain though."

Thunder rumbled overhead and D'Artagnan looked up sharply. While the lightning had teased them, never had it been accompanied by thunder. The flashes in the sky had increased. Maria's hand grasped his arm. "Will it rain at last?" she asked.

A chilled breeze hit their faces. "I think it is," D'Artagnan answered, keeping his voice controlled as hope flared. A single raindrop hit his face. Slowly, the young man held his hands out to catch the rain in his hands. At first, the drops were sparing, and then began to increase in frequency. "The rain has finally come!"

The grip on his arm loosened and then Maria's hand slipped away as she stepped forward. In the flash of lightning, D'Artagnan saw the rain come towards them like a wall. A second later the rain hit and he closed his eyes as the col drops hit his face. "We're going to be soaked!" he called out, not making a move towards protection.

Spreading her arms out, Maria spun in a slow circle. "I already am!" she responded, laughing out loud. "The heat is over, D'Artagnan! We can win this one!"

A moment later, the woman had her arms around D'Artagnan and she planted a kiss on his cheek. "Adele!" she called out, almost dancing towards the door where musketeers and women alike were marveling at the miracle of wine. "Bring the buckets! Anything to catch the rain! We have fresh water at last!"

As the young women reached out towards the rain, the older women ran to find any bowl to catch the rain. When a loud crack of thunder sounded and icy cold hail hit his face, D'Artagnan decided that as refreshing as the water felt, it would be wisest to get out of the elements. He grabbed Maria's arm and pulled her along, since she didn't seem inclined to get out of the rain.

He was as soaked at her, and he wiped at the water running down his face. "You should get dry," he told her, making sure to keep his eyes on her face. He reckoned that getting accused of staring at the scar on her face rather than the repercussions that would be sure of coming if he was caught noticing how her gown was sticking to her figure.

"Hope, D'Artagnan, is a beautiful thing," Maria told him, a broad smile on her face. She turned and hurried further inside. "Open the windows! Let the air cleanse everything. Let the rain come in and we will deal with it later. Fresh air will be as much a healing aid as anything!"

"You think it will help?" D'Artagnan asked, astonished by the sudden change in mood.

"I know it will!"

* * *

><p>Life had returned to Paris. Riding through the streets, Athos glanced at the people who were repairing damage from the storm that had hit the city. The air was cool with the hint of fall in the light breeze. The only sign that tragedy had struck was with the abundance of black gowns and armbands worn by many.<p>

The month in the country had brought nothing but boredom to Athos, and he was eager to return to his friends. He'd half expected some kind of communication from his friends, and was slightly concerned that so much time had passed without a word. There hadn't even been a change in the guard sent by Treville as had been discussed.

"Athos!"

The older musketeer was unable to keep the fond smile from his face as he spotted the exuberant Gascon youth who had come into his life so unexpectedly. Some of his concern faded on seeing D'Artagnan well. "I take it your Constance has survived," he commented by way of greeting as the younger man rode up to him.

Reaching over, D'Artagnan gripped his arm. "I am pleased to see you," he said honestly. "Yes, Constance is well and has returned to the palace. She was anxious to have everything ready for the queen."

Ever observant, Athos quickly spotted the hole in the brim of D'Artagnan's hat. "What happened?" he asked.

"Its a long story," D'Artagnan responded, his tone evasive as he pulled his hand back. "How was the country?"

Frowning, Athos caught the reigns of Buttercup to keep the young man in place. "Do not try to lie to me, D'Artagnan," he warned.

Heaving a sigh, D'Artagnan nodded. Relaxing his grip, Athos sat back in his saddle and paid attention as the young man explained about the attack on the musketeers. Knowing he needed to report to Treville as soon as possible, Athos nudged his mount into a slow walk.

By the time they reached the garrison, D'Artagnan had admitted to having lost his opponent. Athos held his tongue, knowing his young friend was bothered by the fact enough that any remarks would be taken very badly. He swung down off his mount and took a moment to take in the damage that was only just being repaired.

"And where were Porthos and Aramis in the middle of this battle?" he asked, looking over at D'Artagnan.

Visibly, the Gascon became uneasy. "Well," he said, his tone hesitant. "Treville wasn't the only one to fall ill."

Swiftly, Athos grabbed D'Artagnan's arm. "Porthos and Aramis were ill, and I was not informed?"

"There was no one to carry the message, Athos!" D'Artagnan protested. "A third of the men that stayed in Paris were lost to the illness." Athos' grip tightened. "But Porthos is completely recovered now."

"And Aramis?"

"He's still regaining his strength. A physician -and Dona Maria informed me I am stretching the application of the term- bled him and the cut became infected," D'Artagnan explained. Breathing out, Athos released the young man. "The rain was a miracle that saved his life. We had about given up hope."

A young girl rushing past with a basket of linens raised Athos' eyebrow. "Is there a reason there are women here?" he asked.

"They came to help care for the sick," D'Artagnan explained with a grin. "Dona Maria organized the whole thing."

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."

"Athos!" Porthos called out, stepping out into the street. He strode towards his friends, and caught Athos in a quick bear hug. Though weeks had passed since his illness, Athos could feel that Porthos had lost weight from the ordeal. "I about thought that the king had decided to permanently move to the country."

"The cardinal would hardly allow it," Athos responded. "I must report to Treville."

"He's behind closed doors with Maria," Porthos informed him. "Did D'Artagnan tell you how she was prepared to defend us all with just a pistol?"

Athos glanced over at D'Artagnan, who shrugged. "She did have a pistol and the crazy Beauchene was dead on the floor," the younger man said.

"Mind your tongue, D'Artagnan," Maria's voice said sharply. She was crossing the hall with a bent over woman all in black. "The man's widow has suffered enough without your thoughtless words."

D'Artagnan flinched, taking a step back. The older woman pressed a handkerchief to her eyes. "I know that my husband was driven by grief," she said, her voice trembling. She pulled away from Maria. "Our son talked of nothing but becoming a musketeer. I should have done more to dissuade him, to comfort Adolphe."

"What has happened is no fault of yours, and Senor de Treville assured you of this." Shaking her head, Madame Beauchene continued on her way. Maria glared at D'Artagnan. "Well done," she scolded.

"I take it all the excitement was here while I was away," Athos commented.

Maria glanced at him and a smile flicked across her face. "Well, its about time you returned," she remarked in response. She swung her cloak onto her shoulders and fastened it at her throat. "I am returning to my uncle's house. Aramis is ignoring my instructions to stay in his bed, and so I will leave him to your care."

"She fusses too much," Aramis called over from where he was leaning against the doorway. He, more than Porthos, looked frail, the weight lost to the fever obvious to all.

Still, on seeing his friend, Athos felt as though he had returned home. "It is because of my 'fussing' that you still live, Aramis!" Maria said without looking back. "I must go."

Immediately, Porthos held out his arm. "Allow me to escort you," he said.

Athos and D'Artagnan exchanged amused glances. Some things never changed. "You may not," Maria told him. "And all of you know why."

The three musketeers looked at each other and then over at Aramis, who lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "I can think of no reason you would refuse the escort of a friend," Athos told her, knowing full well that she was referring to their argument over Firmin.

Throwing her hands in the air, Maria proclaimed, "I wash my hands of you all!"

"I thought you had something you wanted to tell them," D'Artagnan said, his tone innocent.

If looks could kill, Athos reckoned that the Gascon would have been dead several times over. "What is it?" Porthos asked as Aramis pushed himself away from the wall in order to get closer.

"You swore you would not say a word of the matter!" Maria hissed at D'Artagnan, which only raised Athos' suspicions. She heaved a large sigh and turned so that she was facing them all. "This is neither the time or the place for this discussion, but as D'Artagnan has brought it up, he's right. There's something I must tell you."

* * *

><p>Wincing in pain, Artus watched the bandage that was being around his hand. "Well, that was a waste of time," the woman working said. "Did you even get paid?"<p>

"Not enough."

Scoffing, the woman stood up and put her hands on her hips. "That is why you never get involved in someone else's revenge, Artus," she scolded. She moved to walk away, but the man grabbed her hand. "Let go of me."

Firmly, Artus pulled her down on to her lap. "Chloe, you know I need you for planning," he said to her. "Its not someone else's revenge. I have a score to settle with a musketeer now."

"Oh, did someone finally best you?" Chloe asked, her tone entirely devoid of sympathy. "I warned you it would happen."

"He had the upper hand, but next time, once I've bidded my time, it will go very, very differently."


End file.
